


Suffer the children

by Ineffable_Plans, JMA



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Action/Adventure, Angst, Children, Consequences, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Dead People, Flashbacks, Heaven, Hell, Horror, Hurt feelings, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character(s), Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Nephilim, Noah's Ark, Oh but not the way you think, Original Character(s), Other, Philosophy, Post-Apocalypse, Potentially challenging content, Purgatory, Somehow I'm not surprised this fandom already has that tag, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-03 20:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20459066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineffable_Plans/pseuds/Ineffable_Plans, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JMA/pseuds/JMA
Summary: “Tell them to get lost, whatever it is,” Crowley said, leaning against the counter as Aziraphale scanned the letter. “It can’t be that important or they would have sent someone…. Aziraphale?”Aziraphale had the letter clutched tightly in his hands and stared at it in horror. “Oh my dear,” he whispered, “You couldn’t be more wrong.”A Nephilim has escaped from Hell.Crowley and Aziraphale have been called to help, despite the painful reminder of why they can never, ever be together.Even the combined power of Heaven and Hell may not be enough to correct the mistakes made over five thousand years ago.COMPLETE





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains emotional spaces that involve children, similar to forced adoption . Please consider this may be a potential trigger.

Suffer the Children

Chapter 1

When people began to multiply on the face of the earth, and daughters were born to them, the sons of God saw that they were fair; and they took wives for themselves of all that they chose.Then the Lord said, "My spirit shall not abide in them...." The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the sons of God went in to the daughters of humans, who bore children to them.

— Genesis 6:1–4

The Angels of God, determined to follow Her will in order to prevent their own Falling, took it upon themselves to love and care for the humans that She had created. In the early days after Eden it was not uncommon to find some of the braver angels walking the Earth amongst men. Humanity resembled them in many ways but there were marked differences, for angels who disobeyed were cast down, never to bask in Her grace from that point forward but the humans had also disobeyed, and yet they were sent on another path entirely. They were given the chance for redemption. 

Curious, the angels continued to observe these walking riddles. Humans were fair and beautiful and brief; they were violent, creative, and bold. And they could love. It was this capacity for love that fascinated the Sons of God and drew them ever closer to humanity. Angels, as creatures of love, could not help but be attracted to a love that reminded them of their Creator. There was nothing better, nothing higher, nothing holier than love.

It seemed natural to them, as creatures of love, to share that love with humanity, and the humans, so like them yet so very different, had ways of expressing that love which was new to the Angels. And so the Sons of God took wives and knew them, and those wives bore children the likes of which none predicted. 

Monsters.

Abominations.

_ Nephilim _.

When it was all done the the Angels returned to Heaven in shame. They smoothed their bodies and hardened their hearts against the memory of the children below. The days of Angels walking the earth were at an end. 

Well, almost.

One angel would be permitted to remain on Earth full time to observe humanity. 

“What’s that?”

Aziraphale frowned as he picked up the crisp white letter sealed with gold. Heaven’s work, obviously, but unexpected all the same. They hadn’t heard from either Heaven or Hell in just over three years. After the failed apocalypse things had been quiet. It was radio silence from both sides, and he hadn’t expected to hear from either side for a long time yet. 

“Tell them to get lost, whatever it is,” Crowley said, leaning against the counter as Aziraphale scanned the letter. “It can’t be that important or they would have sent someone…. Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale had the letter clutched tightly in his hands and stared at it in horror. “Oh my dear,” he whispered, “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“Angel?”

Aziraphale looked at him with naked terror. “One of the nephilim has escaped.”

It took a moment to sink in. It should have been impossible. “Which one?” 

“They didn’t say. I’m assuming they are summoning all of the angels who were...personally involved… and I am certainly hoping they have some sort of a plan.”

“Could it be a trap? Some sort of trick?”

Aziraphale shook his head. Not that he didn’t think Heaven was capable of deceit, he’d lost those illusions, but lying about something as serious as this was beyond the pale. No, it had to be true. “They want to meet on neutral ground. I’ve been summoned to Purgatory immediately.”

Crowley swallowed and pushed himself up from the counter. “I’m coming.”

“Absolutely not! There’s no reason for you to get involved…”

“I’m coming, angel. They know we’re friends and that’s all they need to know. If it’s really the nephilim then Hell’s involved and they’re still wary of messing with me.” There was a moment when Crowley thought Aziraphale might push the point, but they both knew Crowley wasn’t going to back down on this. 

Aziraphale sighed. “Alright. But do try not to upset anyone unnecessarily. They’re bound to be temperamental as is with all this going on.”

“Fine. Let me pick up a plant mister on the way.”

Heaven and Hell could be accessed from an office block in London, but to get to Purgatory you have to drive to Liverpool. 

According to all official sources, there never was a DVLA office in Liverpool, even before the closures Crowley suggested in 2013. Certainly people remember waiting for untold hours, clutching a white piece of paper waiting for a number that never seemed to come up, but they remember doing this in Chester instead. Human memories were really quite extraordinary things.

There was a building in the city that clearly remembered hundreds of feet shuffling about and waiting. It remembered the white paper tickets and the soft sighs of people who knew there was no point getting frustrated, because nobody would care if you did. It remembered the forms that were never the right one, it remembered a voice calling out numbers in monotone, numbers that never actually corresponded with the tickets. It remembered _A23 to counter four. Counter four, please _. And it remembered the grumbling quiet and the deafening tick of the clock.

This was Purgatory. 

An angel and a demon stood on either side of the doorway that led to a meeting room that was too nice for Hell and too shabby for Heaven. Aziraphale passed through without a second look, but the demon reached out for Crowley as he tried to enter. Crowley pushed his jacket back to reveal a plant mister hooked via the trigger into the waistband of his jeans and the demon took a hasty step back with his hands raised.

“I’m his insurance,” Crowley said, nodding towards Aziraphale. The angel on the other side rolled their eyes but didn’t object to him entering.

The assembly was smaller than expected. Aziraphale assumed all of the thirteen angels who had fathered the surviving nephilim would be there, but that didn’t appear to be the case. Amongst the dozen or so that were there he spied Michael and Sandalphon, who he doubted had any involvement. There were an equal number of demons on the other side of the room. In the middle Gabriel was having a heated argument with Beelzebub.

“I should have been informed immediately!” Gabriel wasn’t yelling, not yet. Aziraphale had borne witness to a truly irate Gabriel several millennia prior, and he knew the difference. The archangel wasn’t far off though, and Aziraphale was slightly concerned that if Gabriel did reach the point of no return the room was going to devolve into smiting rather quickly. 

“The nephilim are my responsibility,” Beelzebub replied testily, “and I had _bodies to clean up _. Do you have any idea how many people I lost to your monsters? Do you even begin to understand the panic down there? _We _have been the ones taking all the risk, and you…”

“You were responsible!” 

Michael cleared her throat and tilted her chin towards them. Apparently they had been waiting for Aziraphale to arrive. Gabriel regarded them cooly, Beelzebub glared with open malice.

“You took your time,” Beelzebub’s tone was flat menace.

“I came as soon as I received the message,” Aziraphale replied, standing slightly in front of Crowley so to minimise his presence. The message had been for him, after all. Crowley grumbled but allowed it, holding a hand over the mister as a clear warning to the demons in the room.

“Now that we are all here,” Gabriel began pointedly, “we can properly begin. Beelzebub?”

Beelzebub raised zzir voice to address the room. “At approximately 9:15 Celestial Time there was an incident at our Secure Nephilim Facility. At present, only creatures Beth to Lamedh are accounted for.”

Aziraphale screwed up his face. “Beth? Why not start at Aleph if you’re going to designate them alphabetically?”

_ “Aleph was murdered!” _ Uriel had been the one to cry out, but the uproar was quickly taken up by the other angels in the room and grew exponentially louder until it was answered by the demonic host. 

“We had every right to ensure the safety of our people!” Beelzebub cut above the noise of the room, “An example had to be made.”

Gabriel raised his hands to get the attention of the angels. “We’re not here to go over past...issues. We have a more immediate problem at hand.”

Crowley used this distraction to move closer to Aziraphale and whisper. “Beth to Lamedh is still only eleven.”

Beelzebub had begun again. “The thirteenth nephilim that was surrendered, the one designated Mem, crossed the hellfire. They sustained burns but did not die.“

The assembled host let out noises of shock and horror. Crowley was perfectly silent and still as a stone. Aziraphale’s hands had begun to clench and unclench.

“The nephilim Mem killed the seven guardz set on that watch…..

Jamelz looked at his watch and sighed. His shift would be over in 35 minutes. At least, he hoped it would. There was no guarantee that his relief would actually show up on time – this was Hell after all. He hated it down here, and after three days he was glad that his stint was over for another century. Though, he supposed it could be worse. Poor Tristus had copped a double rotation as punishment and was now a drooling mess being cared for by some of the nicer demons.

The worst part was that there wasn't anything particular you could point out to the higher ups to explain what was so wrong about the place. Proper_ wrong _wrong too, not the good kind. It was just...like someone scraping a needle over your brain over and over. After a day it set your teeth on edge, after three you just wanted it to stop, and after a week, well, you ended up like poor Tristus. Still, Jamelz tried to be optimistic. He looked down the dirty aisle of large discolored concrete boxes and frowned. Officially, they weren't meant to know exactly what was in them, but it was the worst kept secret on Hell. Here were the angel's fuckups, no doubt about it, and he didn't see why they had to be stuck with them. Each was enveloped in Hellfire, which of course wouldn’t hurt _him _at all. But there'd been a practical demonstration once that proved exactly how effective it was against angel spawn 

He flipped open the wrinkled and damp log book and looked at his watch again. It was time to do another round. Not that he ever found anything different, even the roaches and mice seemed to know well enough to stay away from this particularly depressing pit. Jamelz stood up from the highly uncomfortable stool that he was provided with and slowly walked down the aisle. There were six boxes each side. As far as Jamelz knew, all were occupied. None of the cubes had doors or even a window, but occasionally he thought he heard something from inside.

He had just turned to walk back towards his stool when he felt a tremor underneath his feet. _Fuckin' demons causin' a ruckus _, he thought. But no, that wasn't right? Surely it wouldn't be felt all the way down here? He looked from one cube to the other, but they were motionless and quiet as before. Jamelz walked on and was very nearly about to shrug it off completely when he heard rock shattering behind him.

Jamelz turned around quickly, dropping the notebook to the ground. “What in the – “

The last cube on the right had completely broken away, great chunks of it lying on the ground. Jamelz cursed. He could vaguely make out a figure standing where the cube had been, upright amongst the rubble. It was hard to tell exactly who or what it was. The Hellfire, thank Satan, was holding. Jamelz had heard about the demonstration but he wasn’t dumb enough to find out if it was true. He yelled out for help; hoping the other guards were still within earshot in the nearby break room.

Demons are occasionally given weapons, but usually they just rely on their own special talents for defense or, failing that, a half brick in a sock would do. Jamelz grew his claws out long enough to function as knives. He didn’t want to fight this creature, he wasn’t really a fighter at all, but he hoped that it would perhaps make it think twice about attacking him.

The creature behind the hellfire reached out a hand, hissed painfully, and quickly drew it back. _Good_, Jamelz thought, _Don’t wanna touch that, do ya?_ Jamelz could hear footsteps coming his way. He took a deep breath and smiled. Someone else would figure out what went wrong and take care of this. The creature froze and stepped from side to side. It seemed to be panicking and looking for a way out.

“It’s no good,” Jamelz called out, feeling a bit more confident now. “Ya can’t get around the Hellfire.”

The creature continued to shift quickly back and forth in the confined area before realizing it was out of options. A yell of warning died in Jamelz’s throat as the creature threw itself through the hellfire and collapsed on the other side. _It has to be dead _he thought, his mouth still open in shock. Jamelz approached it slowly, claws ready just in case. The creature seemed mostly humanoid, though it was difficult to tell much else with the burns covering so much of their body.

“Well,” He said with a frown. “That was a stupid thing to do.”

“…Was it though?” The creature was still laying on the floor, but its eyes, bright blue, cat-slit and piercing, were fixed on him. Jamelz backed away as quickly as he could. His shift had been almost bloody over! He didn’t know what the creature was, and he didn’t care. All Jamelz knew was that he had never in all of his years felt the kind of fear he felt at that moment. He turned and started to run down the hallway when he saw the other demons running towards him. He was, for a moment at least, relieved. And then he noticed the look on their faces. The abject terror and panic each of them displayed. 

One of them called out to him, though Jamelz did not bother to reply. The demon had yelled a warning Jamelz heard too late, and probably wouldn’t have helped much anyway. Jamelz felt pain rip through him from back to front, saw bits of himself explode out towards the other demons who could only recoil in horror. He felt the liquid pouring from himself, and then Jamelz was gone. His soul loose before his vessel had even fallen to the floor.

“At present we don’t know where it is or what it wants. But given historical precedence we’ve only got a small amount of time before the shit really hitzz the fan.”

Here Gabriel took over. “A nephilim who cannot be killed by Hellfire is as unheard of as an Angel who can’t be killed by Hellfire.” Gabriel was looking at Aziraphale now. Everyone was. Of course, that was the reason why he was here. Still..

“Are you certain that it is…?” 

“Yours,” Beelzebub finished. “Plus we have your name on the paperwork. We keep appropriate recordz.”

“Of course,” Aziraphale answered. He’s known, always had known that his was different. Fated to be worse. But that didn't make it any less painful to hear. Aziraphale took a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to shut down the part of him that remembered the feeling of holding a new, innocent life. The life he had helped to create. He felt his friend's hand on his shoulder. “Well, then.” Aziraphale said showing nothing of these thoughts, “What can we do?”

“You need to be ready,” Gabriel answered. “And you need to pick up your sword. If Hellfire won’t kill it, then we are going to have to resort to less…pleasant methods.”

“In the old dayzz these bastardz could hold their own against four or five of us. And that was without them being able to walk through Hellfire. So thankzz for that.” Beelzebub sneered. The other demons nodded along in agreement and began muttering to themselves. Fellow demons had been lost – permanently – thanks to this Principality’s indiscretions.

“Hey!” Crowley said as he tapped the side of his spray bottle, “Maybe now’s not a great time for the blame game?”

“No, it’s alright.” Aziraphale looked from Beelzebub to Gabriel. “I – I’ll be ready.”

“Fantastic!” Gabriel said with a smile. “You go get your sword and join the hunt. We’ll find the nephilim eventually. Or it’ll make a scene. Either way, really. We find it, we catch it. Then things can get back to normal around here.” He shrugged his shoulders as if it were no big deal. Beelzebub looked at him like he was a moron.

“You really think it is going to be _that easy _? Did you not hear the part where it killed my people?”

"You forget that I was there, Beelzebub. I do not underestimate the nephilim," Gabriel smiled, "After all, I didn't let one escape." 

The walk back to the Bentley was both quick and silent. Aziraphale felt the deaths of those demons keenly. It had been his mistake, after all; his decision to spare the creature’s life. Each and every death it caused was on him. He slid into the passenger side noiselessly and watched Crowley out of his peripheral vision. The demon hadn’t said much while they were in purgatory, and hadn’t said a single word since they left.

At least he had his friend. His best friend. It had taken millennia for the two of them to get to this point, only to have his failure from almost literally the dawn of time come back to wreck everything.

They had only talked about his nephilim once since the whole sorry business happened. It had required vast amounts of alcohol and they never, ever brought it up again.

He knew that Crowley had desperately wanted children, although the news of the Nephilim had destroyed any hopes of keeping one of his own. He was good with children. 

The first sight of Crowley holding baby Warlock before the Armageddon tore at Aziraphale with silver knives. When they'd decided to be godfathers he'd straight up forgotten they'd be around a baby at first. He had wanted desperately to leave until the child was at an age where it didn't hurt so damn much. 

There had been awkward, painful afternoons where Crowley sat under a tree holding the baby and not looking Aziraphale in the eye. Aziraphale would talk to the baby, tell him things about the goodness of the world, but he would never, ever hold him.

Crowley on the other hand couldn't seem to put the baby down. He always seemed to be holding him or sniffing his head. There was a desperate yearning in Crowley that drew him to children in the same way it made Aziraphale turn away. 

There had been six human babies, all abandoned, that Aziraphale knew of who had been raised by Crowley over the centuries. Usually during the quiet years and Aziraphale kept well away when he knew it was happening. Once he'd come across a grief enraged Crowley smashing furniture in a cottage when one of the children had died from illness, the way children often did back then, and another time he had to arrange a hasty marriage to one of Noah's sons in response to Crowley's plea, "I have a girl" but other than that they didn't speak of it and he kept away. 

He could see Crowley glancing at him through the rear vision mirror, but he declined to speak. Discussing his nephilim would only cause them both pain and he'd had enough hurt for one evening. What on Earth was he supposed to do?

"I'd like to go back to the bookshop, please," Aziraphale said eventually, breaking the silence. 

Crowley nodded. "Yeah, sure."

When Crowley spoke again he did not look at Aziraphale, in the mirror or otherwise. 

"Sometimes I like to pretend that we're just normal people," he said," You know? Since the apocalypse, with us actually being able to spend time together I'd almost convinced myself we could…" 

"I will not bring another nephilim into this world, Crowley. I can't risk a romantic entanglement, not with your biology. I can't be anything more than your friend."

"I know. That's what I meant to say, that I understand."

"We just need to focus on the problem at hand. I need-" Aziraphale clutched at his chest. Crowley could see the panic in his face. 

"Angel, what's wrong?

"Someone has broken into the bookshop. Please hurry!"

They were just past Stafford. Usually the drive between there and Soho would take nearly three hours, Crowley made it in just over an hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've liked it so far, hit the kudos button and drop us a comment. We'll love you forever for it.


	2. Chapter 2

_Mesopotamia, 3004 BC _

They hadn’t spoken in nearly five hundred years and the last time they did it had not ended well.

Aziraphale squinted into the sun as Noah’s family loaded the first of the animals into the impossibly large boat. This was going to take a while, but Aziraphale wasn’t wishing for a speedy load. Around him children played and families stopped to gawk at the madman and his menagerie. Aziraphale resisted the urge to shoo them along, to beg them to go about the last of their lives doing something, anything more productive. He’d been expressly forbidden to warn them though and could do nothing but stand there helpless, just another gawker.

“Aziraphale!” The angel felt a tap on his shoulder, discovering the one person who really shouldn’t be standing by his side. The demon. _ That _ demon. They had not spoken to each other for nearly five hundred years, and Aziraphale was definitely not sure they should be speaking now. All the terrible feelings from the last time they had spoken warred with a bewildering yearning for someone who _ understood _. And, if nothing else, the demon understood what it was like to be stranded here.

Aziraphale answered Crawley’s questions about the upcoming flood, which he shouldn’t have but found himself doing anyway. They weren't _ friends _, they could never be friends, but it was someone to talk to. 

"Not the kids. You can't kill kids." Crawley hissed.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and nodded, feeling ashamed and pained and remembering a small creature he hadn't been able to bring himself to murder. And now so many human children were going to die and he wasn’t allowed to do anything to stop it. He tried to explain to Crawley about the 'rain-bow' but he couldn't even convince himself it was a decent trade-off.

He felt Crawley's hand on his wrist and tried not to flinch. The demon whispered low so that only he could hear.

"Aziraphale, help me, I have a daughter."

Aziraphale's head snapped around to gasp in cold horror. How could he? How could Crawley have been so recklessly irresponsible? And surely, if there was another nephilim in the world someone would know?

"Not nephilim" Crawley shook his head, reading his terror for what it was, "not _ mine _ mine. Human. They didn't want her and I did so I took her."

Aziraphale felt a flush of relief. Still.. "You can't just _ take _ a child, Crawley!"

Crawley's eyes narrowed and his face hardened. "There's a vault in Hell that says otherwise."

That was cruel and they both knew it. It wasn't as if Aziraphale had a choice. It wasn't as if that choice had come easily or without significant pain. Crawley's expression softened.

"Please save her, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale swallowed the lump in his throat. He couldn't intervene in the Divine Plan, but perhaps…

"How old is she?"

Crawley told him. It was almost too young, but not outside the social norms of this time. "Noah's youngest son is unmarried. I'll put a word in for her. I'm sorry, I can't do anything more."

Crawley thanked him with a gentle touch on his wrist. Aziraphale couldn't save all the children, he hadn't been able to save his own, but he would try to keep this one safe.

It took a temptation to do it, Aziraphale's first, but the girl boarded the boat with the rest of Noah's family.

It was a testament to how panicked Aziraphale was that he didn’t make a single snide comment on Crowley’s driving. Aziraphale released his death grip on the seat and car door when the Bentley finally pulled up outside of his bookshop. Crowley had barely managed to park in his usual not-a-parking-spot before the Angel was opening the door and rushing to his shop. The warning bells that had been going off in his head hadn’t been a false alarm. The door was ajar and light was spilling out into the street.

“Aziraphale?” asked Crowley. “How did you know?”

“Just a minor miracle,” Aziraphale frowned and muttered, “Of all the days. Honestly.”

“Do you think those men came back? The ones who wanted your shop before?”

“It’s possible I suppose. But not likely.” Aziraphale gently opened the door. “Oh. Oh, my.” Aziraphale’s face betrayed the flood of emotions he felt upon seeing his beloved bookshop in complete disarray. He stepped in gingerly, trying desperately not to step on a single page. Crowley followed him in and swore as he looked around. It appeared as if every book Aziraphale owned had been haphazardly thrown on the floor, the shelves left bare and empty. The stairs were littered with books as well; clearly whoever had been there hadn’t confined their destruction to the first floor. Aziraphale bent down and picked up a worn, original copy of The Canterbury Tales.

“My poor books,” He whispered, tears welling up in his eyes, “How could someone do this? I do hope nothing is missing. Though I’m not quite sure what they’d be after if not this. There are only twelve original copies left. It is worth quite a lot…"

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley, who had been silently walked around the shop. Crowley had taken off his glasses and was looking around wide-eyed. For a moment, Aziraphale thought that Crowley looked even more bothered by the mess than he did, if that was possible.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked tentatively, “My dear? Are you alright?”

“Eh, yeah.” Crowley said hastily and put his sunglasses back on. “They made a mess, but it’s better than a fire, right? No Antichrist to fix things up this time.”

_ Oh. Right. _

“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale agreed. “No real damage I suppose. Nothing that can’t be fixed at any rate. I hope nothing is missing though, but as I said if they were going for money this wouldn’t have been left behind.” He gave the book in his hand a gentle pat.

“I don’t think they were here for money. Looks like the till’s been left alone.”

Aziraphale nodded and bent down to pick up another book. “I do hope they haven’t taken any of my favorites.”

“They’re all your favorites, angel.” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Yes, well. But some of them are _ particular _ favorites of mine.” Aziraphale argued. “I would hate to have to track them down again.”

"So you think it's an intimidation tactic then? From those blokes? Because if it is I suggest we pay them back in kind."

Aziraphale paused for a moment and bit his lip. “Do you – do you think that this is related to the nephilim? Only, it seems strange, the timing that is.”

Crowley absently toed one of the many volumes on the floor. Aziraphale sent him a glare, so Crowley picked it up and gave it a look and put it on a nearby shelf. It looked lonely. "Anyway, why would she come _ here _? I mean, how would she even know you're her dad?"

Aziraphale flinched. "You're right, it may be unrelated. Do you know how much they've been told about themselves?"

Crowley gaped at him. "I thought you knew." Crowley had tried to tell him, actually. But they had been on unsteady ground at the time, not friends and just getting back on speaking terms. Aziraphale hadn't wanted to talk about the nephilim at all and Crowley had been so horrified at their treatment that he'd gotten drunk and... unpleasant. And after that the door to that subject had been firmly closed. Locked. Barred.

It still wasn't easy to talk about. "At first they were kept in one room together, with the room surrounded by Hellfire. But there was a problem with the guards. One of the nephilim kept calling out, and a couple of the demons would occasionally talk back, you know how social my lot are, and before you know it these guards started trying to break them out. Turns out one of the nephilim, Teth or Waw I think, 's got a bit of a silver tongue. So they locked them all up individually after that, in these concrete cells so they couldn't talk to anyone."

Aziraphale paused in his search through the books. " Oh...even..?"

"The little one? She'd grown up by then, thank Satan. Still, they'd been like that ever since. Nobody's told them anything."

Crowley picked up another book and shelved it. He was aware of Aziraphale in his peripheral vision standing still and thinking. Crowley didn't think about it, couldn't, and had spent many, many years trying not to.

"We know the nephilim are dangerous," Aziraphale said eventually, "But after that kind of isolation we should also be prepared for the possibility that they are mad as well. Insane."

They both felt the weight of that. No amount of talking about it would lift that, so they didn't try.

Aziraphale found what he was looking for, a thick ledger with all of his books catalogued. "If anything is missing it will appear in red. I get the occasional attempt at shoplifting."

Crowley snorted. The mental image of Aziraphale terrorizing some teenage shoplifter was a welcome comedic relief after the night they’d had. Crowley had witnessed the angel’s reluctance to part with a book from someone who was willing to pay for it. He could only imagine the snit Aziraphale would be in if someone actually tried to steal from him. Crowley had almost convinced himself that that was all this was, a run of the mill break-in perpetrated by some mischievous teenagers, when he heard it.

"Oh, _ damn._"

Crowley could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard Aziraphale come even close to swearing and it was never, ever a good thing.

"Angel?"

"_De Kleuver's Conversations_. It can't be a coincidence."

Crowley's mouth hung agape. "_ Conversations? _ As in, _ Conversations with Alyur _? What the Heaven are your thinking having THAT in a bloody shop?!"

"It wasn't for sale, Crowley, credit me with some sense. It was...part of my personal collection."

_ Conversations _ was probably the only accurate book on demons ever written. It contained none of the sexy, drug-fueled hallucinations of Milton and the kind of pedantic detail that only a human accountant could have written. It hadn't helped that Alyur was the demonic equivalent, who should never have been out of Hell in the first place. The fact that Alyur had left Hell, befriended a human, and proceeded to spill a few too many secrets had been the centre of a major and utterly fruitless demonic Enquiry. Crowley and any other demons to visit Earth were under strict instructions to destroy any copy of _ Conversations _ they came across, with a hefty bonus if they did. Crowley had personally bagged twelve.

"If you must know," Aziraphale was saying, "I had it because of you."

"Err, thanks? But if you wanted to know anything about Hell you just could've asked."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Because of Section Twelve."

Section Twelve. How to summon anything out of Hell. It was famous amongst the demons. According to demon folklore, Section Twelve had instructions on how to get past even the most stringent of Hell's security measures.

"It's going to try and release the others, Crowley. We must stop it before that happens. It took the combined weight of Heaven and Hell to capture them in the first place, and it would be a disaster if they got out again."

"Don't worry too much. I've read Section Twelve. It's useless." Crowley had read Section Twelve, despite being expressly forbidden to do so. Of course he had, and it was a good bet that any other demon to destroy a copy had too. And been disappointed. It was incomplete at best, total gibberish at worst. Yeah, there was a lot in that book that was accurate, but Section Twelve turned out to be just a fairytale you told to your demon mates

"Crowley," Aziraphale put his hand on his arm. They almost never touched unless it was important, one of those unwritten rules they'd acquired through the centuries, "I had made annotations. There's years worth of research in there. I... needed to know that if Hell ever found out about us, our friendship, that I could get you back. I would have come for you."

_ If my heart could beat, it would break my chest. _ Crowley needed a moment to process. The image of Aziraphale breaking down the metaphorical door to rescue him was bordering on absurd if you looked at the quiet bookshop owner and forgot that this was a soldier of Heaven, and Guardian of the Eastern Gate no less. And to do so for him…

He worked his throat a few times before he could speak. "How far did you get? Are we fucked, angel?

"Too far. And not yet. The instructions require several Holy and Unholy items before the ceremony can be performed. We need to figure out which items it is likely to try and collect first and either try and get them before it does, or confront it when they are trying to retrieve the items."

"So we just need to figure out which items she's going to go after first?"

"Precisely. Although how we're meant to figure out which one it will go for first is beyond miracles."

"Yeah...but not beyond magic altogether," Crowley said, thinking it through, "Do you remember the witch that had been looking for the Antichrist as well? They're usually pretty good at finding things, witches."

"Oh yes, yes they are!" Aziraphale initial enthusiasm waned as he looked around the room. It had already been such a long day. And now it looked as though they would need to drive out to Tadfield.He rubbed his hand over his face. The temptation was to put it off for the night, to right the bookshop and try to get his head around thoughts and feelings he had been avoiding for millennia.

Crowley was having the same thoughts. "Is there anything in the book that's urgent? Can it wait for the morning?"

Aziraphale sighed. He looked over at the mess of his shop, of his life, "We can't stop Crowley, as much as I'd like to. I need to fix this."

"We will fix this. We'll find a way, both of us."

"No rest for the wicked."

Aziraphale locked up the ruined shop and Crowley started the car.

It was getting late when Crowley beat on the door of Jasmine Cottage.

"Oi! Witch!"

Aziraphale fussed, but Crowley was tired and thoroughly over this night already. The light clicked on in the upstairs bedroom and a woman's sleep-mussed head appeared out of the window, poised to send out curses both literal and figurative, when she saw who was knocking and instead yelled that she'd be down in a moment.

Crowley still tingled when he crossed the threshold thanks to the horseshoe above the door, but not enough to properly bother him.

The cottage was small, with the reception room leading directly to the kitchen, where a dishevelled young man in pyjamas was putting a kettle on.

“You don’t seem all that surprised to see us,” Aziraphale said as the witch ushered them to a small pine table that nonetheless dominated the small kitchen, “is that due to -”

“Agnes? No.” She sat down at the table with them and placed a small wooden box on the top. The kettle hissed, and the dishevelled man asked them their preferences.

“Black for me, thank you Newton, and white with one sugar for my friend,” Azirapale answered for both of them. Crowley didn’t much feel like tea, but the warmth of the mug would be welcome.

Anathema opened the wooden box to pull out a set of cards, slightly larger than a traditional deck and began shuffling them. “These tarot cards were made by one of the descendants, Molly Device. Although it’s based on the old Trionfi deck, she definitely put her own spin on things. I haven’t touched them in years, but a couple of days ago I found them when I was unpacking some stuff and I keep getting the same message.”

She neatly pushed the cards back into a single deck then spread them in a fan on the table. “Pick two.”

Newt handed out the tea as Aziraphale reached over and pulled out a seemingly random card. With barely a glance Anathema explained what it meant.

"That one's the Tower. It means trouble. Danger, crisis, but also liberation. So it actually might not be all that bad."

"Oh yeah, it really is all bad," Crowley said. He took a sip of his tea. The picture was drawn by a fair artist, very much in the style of the early eighteenth century if Crowley was not mistaken. The picture showed a tall tower on fire, with a large window on the top and a figure struggling to get out as the building crumbled.

Aziraphale looked sideways at Crowley, then picked out another card. Anathema didn't even look at it. "This is the other one that keeps coming up. The Lovers."

Crowley had seen Tarot decks before, watching them come in and out of fashion since the 1500's. It wasn't the first time he'd seen them depicted as Adam and Eve, although usually a bit paler than the true archetypes. It also wasn't the first time he'd seen the Lovers depicted with someone watching over them.

"Oh. My." Aziraphale said breathlessly.

Adam and Eve were copulating under the apple tree in the Garden, beautifully done in muted colours. This was not the reason for the angel's reaction.

In the leaves on the tree were two other figures, a blond with white wings and a redhead with black, whose postures directly mirrored the couple below.

"Is that meant to be..."

"All I know is that I keep getting this card and here you are."

Crowley hadn't been able to tear his gaze away. He wanted to rip the damn thing up, steal it, burn it, memorise it, or eat it so it became a part of him.

Beside him Aziraphale flustered. "It doesn't mean what you think it means."

Newt settled down next to Anathema. "Honestly, not our place to judge. Anyway, you guys are the only angel and demon we know who are on, um, speaking terms. Actually I'm glad it's you. I thought our relationship was in trouble at first." he gestured to himself and Anathema.

"You are in trouble," Crowley interrupted, "we are all in trouble. This-" He picked up the Tower card, carefully avoiding the other. " This means bad things are happening."

Aziraphale sighed. " I suppose we should start from the beginning."

Aziraphale's stories and explanations could be long and convoluted, beginning well, but meandering down so many tangents it often forgot its path entirely. But in this he was direct, sticking sparsely to the facts, especially in regards to his own involvement. It was obviously as hard for him say as it had been for Crowley to listen to.

"So what about the mothers?" Newt asked, "Where are they?"

Neither Crowley or Aziraphale answered for a few moments and the tension in the air was like breathing sawdust. Aziraphale let out a shaking breath, but it was Crowley who answered.

"All the human mothers died," he said, "Some of them were killed by angels to prevent more nephilim being born. The rest died during birth. None of them survived."

Newt looked down at his mug, embarrassed that he had asked. Anathema, eyes full of sympathy, reached across and put her hand on Aziraphale's.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "that must have been hard on you."

Aziraphale looked at their hands. Human kindness had always awed him. He hadn't expected their sympathy, not for bringing a monster into the world. _ No wonder the angels loved them. _

Crowley abruptly stood and walked out. Newton gaped after him. "I am so, so sorry. I should've known this would be a sore spot for you two. I didn't mean…"

"That's alright, dear," Aziraphale reassured him, "some wounds are still fresh even after five and a half thousand years. I'll just go check on him."

As Aziraphale left he could hear the couple talking behind him in low voices.

"...suppose you'd be upset too if your boyfriend had kids with some woman.." As fond as Aziraphale was of these humans, he wasn't about to justify the complexities of his relationship with Crowley with them. They could think what they liked, the only person he had to focus on was standing outside whispering furious threats at a rhododendron bush.

"You're still so very angry."

Crowley cut his tirade short and whipped around to face Aziraphale. "Of course I'm still bloody angry. My anger has made me the demon I am today!" He spread his arms as if to reveal the demon in all its glory, but there was too much hurt in his voice to make it convincing. "The two things I want most and I can't have them because of what? Angels and demons aren't allowed to create life? Everything else on this planet can! And it wasn't even like some stupid rule was broken. All anybody did wrong was _ love _."

"I think," Aziraphale said gently, not wanting to talk about this at all, "the problem was the _ lust _."

"Piss off! If lust created nephilim, Asmodeus would have half a dozen by now." Crowley's voice was rough with emotion. Suppressed rage sharpened his words. "_You of all people _ know it was love that created those children, whatever they turned out to be, and don't you _ dare _ tell me otherwise! How can you not hate Her for that!?"

"Because I'll Fall," Aziraphale whispered, his voice breaking, "because if I don't keep control of all of these feelings they'll drown me. I need to..I need to keep going, especially now. Because if I stop to think about it, it will destroy me."

Crowley looked at him with unreadable eyes. Then he walked over and enfolded him in his long arms, pulling Aziraphale close, burying his face into his neck as Aziraphale clawed at the back of his shirt and wept silently. They buried their grief in each other.

After a while Aziraphale pulled away and wiped his face with his handkerchief. Crowley's face was dry and Aziraphale was struck by the incredible cruelty of not allowing demons to weep. For all of his questions and fury, he still had faith in God, but he did feel like he'd like to have words with Her all the same.

Crowley kicked at the dirt. "We better go inside, do what we came here to do."

Inside Newt tried once again to apologise. Aziraphale reassured him while Crowley glared. He wanted to go home, to bed. He wanted to wake up tomorrow and have this all been a particularly traumatic nightmare. But he couldn't.

Instead he sat and gestured towards the deck. Crowley made no effort to keep the frustration out of his voice. "We need you to use those to help us. This nephilim has a book which, if she collects all the little Pokemon, _ worse _ than all Hell will break loose."

Anathema put her hand on the deck. "These aren't going to be much help in actually location someone. To do that I'm better off coming along and bringing the pendulum or the theodolite."

"Absolutely not," Aziraphale said immediately, "it's far too dangerous."

"More dangerous than the end of the world?" Newt asked pointedly.

"Yes." He said firmly, "Nephilim can destroy your eternal soul. We'll take whatever help the cards can give us."

Anathema looked like she was going to argue, but Newt put his hand on her shoulder and a look passed between them, the type of look that spoke volumes to each other, but was a foreign language to any outside the pair. She sighed and picked the cards back up.

"What do you need?" She handed the deck to Aziraphale, who began to shuffle the cards.

"The sword," he said, "and the first item the nephilim is looking for. That should be enough to start with."

He handed the deck to Crowley, who shuffled silently and handed them back to Anathema. She took the cards and spread them in a fan again. Aziraphale indicated two cards, the first of which she turned over.

"Ace of Swords. I think we can take this literally rather than figuratively." She then took the second card and placed it across the first.

"The Messenger. In a traditional deck this is the Page of Swords, but it's a card in it's own right in Molly's. It means…"

"It means the bloody delivery driver. So we're pretty much back where we started." Crowley was tired and this was getting them nowhere.

He reached out and tapped the next card without hope. Anathema took it and laid it across the pile.

"The Knight of Wands. This means immediate action usually. And travel."

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who took the card from the pile and studied it. The pictures showed a young man in yellow plaid atop a piebald horse. In the background was a castle that looked strangely familiar.

"Hang on, is that _ Edinburgh Castle? _" Crowley said, craning his neck for a better look.

Aziraphale's eyes lit up. "I do believe it is! Oh! I know this! It's the The Black Rood of Scotland, one of the items on the list! As far as my research can tell, it was supposedly destroyed in Durham Cathedral during the Reformation, _ but _I actually believe-"

"It's in Edinburgh." Crowley cut in.

Aziraphale let out a small huff. He'd dedicated years of research to this. "It _ was _ in Edinburgh periodically until 1346 but I can assure you -"

"It's in Edinburgh," Crowley said again, "Your lot thought you got it back after the business with Lord Neville, great walloping prat he was, but all they got was the box with a giant petrified turd in it. Uh, _ someone's _ idea of a laugh." Aziraphale scowled at Crowley, who did not meet his gaze. "Anyway, I'd been out drinking with Tristus and Rox, chaos demons, after the work we'd done with King David and..um.. it's probably somewhere near the castle or the old closes.

Aziraphale spluttered, "But..but all my research? I spent years trying to track down…"

"A poo. Sorry."

"Well," Anathema tried to clear some of the tension from the air, "at least this nephilim will be working from Aziraphale's notes, right? So you know where she's headed? And that's not the same place as the actual artefact, so that's good, right?"

Crowley nodded, glad the attention had shifted from his own indiscretions. Aziraphale also looked like he was talking it on board.

"Yes," Aziraphale said slowly, "Yes in all likelihood she..it.. is heading in the wrong direction entirely. Because my notes don't completely conclude the final location of the cross, we may be best off fetching it from Edinburgh instead. I know we were tasked with capturing the nephilim, but our priority _ must _ be stopping any more from escaping."

It also, rather neatly, stopped them from having to deal directly with the nephilim just yet. Aziraphale felt a flush of guilt for his cowardice and prayed no lives would be lost because he chose to go after the rood instead.

Aziraphale’s thoughts were interrupted with a polite, if insistent, knock on the cottage door. There was a moment of awkward silence as the four of them looked at each other curiously before Anathema gave Newt a pointed look and jerked her head towards the door.

“Er, I’ll just get that then.” He said as he quickly stood up and bumped his thigh on the table.

Anathema watched him go and then turned back to Aziraphale and Crowley. “I’m sorry. We’re not really expecting anyone right now. It’s a little late for visitors.

Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other awkwardly. It _ had _ been a little rude just showing up on her doorstep in the dead of night, but then, it had also been an emergency.

“Present company excluded, of course.” Anathema said by way of apology.

Newt returned and looked at Aziraphale awkwardly. “It’s for you actually. A delivery. Not sure how anyone would know to post mail to you at this address.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, standing and straightening his jacket, “It’s, uh, ineffable I suppose.” He pointedly ignored Crowley’s eye rolling and audible groan as he walked past Newt to the front door where the delivery man was waiting.

“Evenin’ Sir,” the man, who seemed vaguely familiar, said cheerfully. “Glad to have found you, it’s getting late and the missus worries if I’m gone for too long. Just sign here please.”

Aziraphale took the proffered clipboard and pen while the man continued to natter on. “Is a nice neighborhood here. I’ve delivered to some really strange places, you know. Actually, you look familiar. Have I delivered a package to you before?”

“No,” Aziraphale said with a tight smile as he handed the form back.

“Right. Well, here it is then. Have a good night, sir.” The delivery man handed Aziraphale a box that was, physically at least, quite light, but metaphorically was the heaviest thing Aziraphale had ever lifted.

Aziraphale nodded without looking up from the package in his hands. He took a deep breath to steady himself and walked back into the house, closing the door behind him. Aziraphale set the box carefully on the table and opened it. Crowley and Anathema did not react at all, both having already figured out what was in the box. Newt, on the other hand stood there open-mouthed and staring as Aziraphale pulled out a sword. His sword.

“They just deliver those then?” Newt asked. “Did you order it special? Wait… Is that the same one from – “

“I’ll explain later.” Anathema said softly as she reached for and squeezed his hand. “Well then, that’s one thing already out of the way.”

“Yes, quite.” Aziraphale set the sword back in the box carefully.

“We should be going then.” Crowley stood and stretched. “We need to get to Edinburgh as soon as possible.”

“Can you just…” Newt wiggled his fingers. “You know, magic miracle or something?”

Azirapale and Crowley looked at each other. “Not the way you think,” Aziraphale said.

“It’ll take a long time by car. You could take a train.” Anathema suggested.

Crowley wrinkled his nose at the mention of public transport. He’d been using it more lately than he cared to. She wasn’t wrong though, the Bentley wouldn’t make it there very fast no matter how many miracles he used. “A plane, I think. Fastest way.”

“I don’t know that you’ll find one flying out tonight.” Newt frowned. “Maybe in the morning.”

“Demon, remember?” Crowley pointed at himself. “We’ll manage. Right, angel?”

Aziraphale looked up, his eyes wide and startled. He cleared his throat and attempted to cover for the fact that he hadn’t really been listening to them at all. “Yes. Well. We better be going then. Thank you so much, Anathema. Your help has been invaluable.”

“The offer still stands,” She pressed lightly, “We can go. We can help you with this.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “We will phone you after Edinburgh. Keep your cards close at hand, please. And thank you for the tea, Newton.”

Aziraphale lifted the box from the table and followed Crowley out to the Bentley, and placed it in the Bentley’s boot. He gave Anathema a little wave goodbye as she shut the cottage door and then slid into the passenger seat beside Crowley who was already in and waiting for him. Crowley waited only for the door to click shut before flooring it to the airport.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are appreciated more than you know.
> 
> "If my heart could beat, it would break my chest" is a line from Buffy The Musical episode


	3. Chapter 3

_ 525 years After Eden _

The pens that held the Nephilim had been erected quickly but not without extreme care. Any mistake would have been fatal and for the first time since the Fall, demons and angels had worked alongside each other to contain the monsters.

Aziraphale had to walk past seven of the twelve cages to get to Gabriel, who was coordinating efforts to secure the last ones captured alive. He could feel the soulless, empty eyes as he passed them, the void that was worse than evil. The bundle in his arms squirmed and he bent and let out a "shhhh" to stop it crying. It would only take a few days for the helpless looking thing in his arms to become...that. 

One of the nephilim had its mouth bound closed. Aziraphale didn't know if that was the one who spat acid, or the one who ate hearts. He didn't want to know. He walked past them all clutching the bundle feeling sick to his soul.

"We lost four people trying to bring that one in," Dagon was saying to a weary and stressed Gabriel as Aziraphale approached them, "three of ours and one of yours and their souls are just...gone. We need to get it properly secure and moved to the facility as quickly as possible." 

Aziraphale sucked in a breath. _ Souls gone. _ The small, traitorous part of him that had considered the _ third option _ shrank back. The Nephilim needed to be removed from the world. It was the only option.

Gabriel nodded. "Whatever resources you need. Do what needs to be done."

Despite the serious situation there was a glint in Dagon's eye. Angels were responsible for the situation, not demons. Angels who could love and had lavished their love on humans. Angels who were not designed to create life, to breed. Demons, it seemed, didn't have the love it took to ignite that spark of life in a mortal even on the rare occasion they took one. 

Aziraphale had loved, for three beautiful and terrifying days before …

"Aziraphale? Was there something you needed?" Gabriel looked tired, his purple eyes no longer sparkled and his pale blue robes were stained with dust. It had been a hard year.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out a breath.

_ You will live, and you will be amongst your own kind. _

"You'll need another cage," he said, "This... this one is a newborn but she..it..will need to be contained before it comes into its power."

Gabriel blinked at him. " A new...?"

Aziraphale tried to control his face, but the tears pushed through anyway. He nodded.

"Oh, Aziraphale," Gabriel's voice was sympathetic and weary beyond words. There was no recrimination, but Aziraphale felt the sting of it anyway.

"The message came too late. It was too late." Aziraphale sobbed. The guilt and fear he felt bubbling to the surface. It had come too late. He'd been away working and there had been a delay in the paperwork. By the time he knew what they were creating the damage had been done.

Gabriel put his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. "You did the right thing bringing it in so quickly."

Aziraphale nodded. He couldn't speak. The .. creature had been born in the desert, its mother bracing against a rock screaming expletives againt Heaven and Hell and most of all angels with kind eyes and stupid hair. Aziraphale had done what he could to ease the pain, but his own fear had choked the words from his throat. 

And after? After was worse. The mother had held the thing, who looked so unimaginably small and fragile despite the terror that it would become. It was fated to be the worst of all, but it cried and waved its tiny hands. They'd all wept, knowing they only had two real choices.

"I can't do it," the mother had said, "I can't kill it. I can't. Aziraphale..."

Aziraphale had taken the newborn then, held his monstrous creation and knew he would not be able to make that sacrifice. Something that should have been easy, breaking a small and fragile thing, was suddenly impossible. The only other option was for him to bring the baby to the containment area where the others were.

It was the only other option. The only real one. Option three was a dangerous fantasy.

Gabriel summoned a demon with a wooden box to take the creature. Aziraphale lifted the bundle and kissed the forehead of the beast within, his tears falling on the silvery scales.

_ You will live and be among your own kind. _

He put the baby in the box

_ Present _

It had taken a few minor miracles and some insistent demonic interference, but they had been able to secure seats on a nonstop flight that same night.

Crowley beeped the horn of their ‘rental’ vehicle to get Aziraphale’s attentions. Although he would have much preferred having his Bently along for the trip, even Crowly wasn’t able to drive as quickly as a plane could fly them there. So instead of his nice, familiar and stylish Bently, he was stuck in a car that was more plastic than metal and had all the horsepower of a Toyota Aygo, which regrettably was what it _ was _.

“Crowley, don’t these vehicles usually require keys to start them?" Aziraphale asked with one eyebrow arched.

_ Really? They were going to do this now? _ “Do you want to go back and spend the next hour filling out car rental paperwork? My lot actually invented rental terms and conditions. You’d technically be engaging in demonic activity.”

“As opposed to straight up stealing a car, which would be?

“Best use of our time, under the circumstances,” Crowley snapped back. They were both feeling tense, and the presence of the flaming sword in Azirphale’s baggage was weighing on both of their minds. Even though the nephilim was more likely somewhere in England, they would have to confront her eventually. _ And then what? _ Crowley thought as they turned on to the A8.

“Now do you think you could tell me more about where exactly the Black Rood was relocated to?” Aziraphale asked testily. He had tried repeatedly to get more information out of Crowley on the flight, but the demon had only grumbled and taken a nap.

“It’s all a bit fuzzy to be honest,” Crowley said with a shrug, attention fixed on driving an unfamiliar car on unfamiliar roads,. “Why on earth would anyone drive one of these? I should have just driven the Bentley.”

“Yes, because we aren’t short on time at all.” Aziraphale frowned. The Rood was in Edinburgh, but that knowledge was only going to get them so far. “You must remember something else. _ Think _, dear. Where do you last remember seeing it?”

“I’ve spent a lot of bloody time trying to forget the fourteenth century. We were at a pub. S’probably long gone now.” Crowley muttered as he fought with the little car and gave up, snapping his fingers instead. The engine roared, squeezing every drop of power out of the pathetic three cylinder engine and coming up short. 

“Honestly, Crowley. This isn’t a game. We need to find this before it does – “

“You think I don’t know that?” Growled Crowley, “I’m aware of the current situation, angel. And don’t worry, we’ll find it before _ she _ does.”

Aziraphale squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. The air between them was tense and uncomfortable, fragments of countless previous arguments on the tip of his tongue. He sighed and shook his head. “I know. I’m sorry, my dear. But we need to narrow it down; we don’t have time to search the entire city.”

“We’ll find it.” _ We have to _, he thought. “Just.. it’s been a while.”

When they reached the city center ten minutes later, it was already well past midnight. It was too late at night for tourists and families, and the shops had long closed. The street was still lit up, and despite the truly miserable weather the occasional late night reveler stumbled out of the nearby clubs in the hope of catching a cab home. A group of young men were shouting at each other in what seemed to be good humour. 

Crowley fought his way out of the tiny car and stretched his legs with a sigh. He looked across the expanse of grass and flowers, beyond the train station and to the castle on the hill.

“There’s the castle but it seems… wrong.” His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “I thought it was, ya know, higher than that.”

“Well, it was hundreds of years ago.” Aziraphale shrugged. “Do you think the relic was left inside?”

“Maybe? Dunno. We were really drunk. I mean, _ poo in a box _, angel.”

“Yes, you’ve said.” Aziraphale fought the urge to roll his eyes. Only a demon would think it funny to replace a piece of the true cross with a piece of excrement. He began walking towards what he considered to be a rather steep hill. “We might as well start somewhere. That’s as good a place as any.”

Crowley shoved his hands as far in his pockets as they would go and followed along behind him. He continued looking around the buildings and streets, desperately trying to remember anything else about that night. Unfortunately the humans changed the city far more than he had expected. Even the layout of the city seemed different. “On the bright side, if we can’t find it you can bet she won’t be able to, either.”

Aziraphale turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “I’d much rather we find it and ensure there’s no chance of it falling into the wrong hands.”

They continued on in silence. The castle loomed large before them, partially lit and completely deserted. It had been a wet and miserable evening, but that meant an empty castle to explore unheeded. Aziraphale was thankful for that much.

“Do you think there’s a particular place we should start our search?” Aziraphale asked slowly.

Crowley opened his mouth to answer and froze momentarily. A figure was standing at the top of the hill not ten meters from them. Crowley’s face hardened and Aziraphale turned to see Uriel. They were standing there stiffly, resolve etched on their face and clearly waiting to be approached.

“Uriel.” Aziraphale faked a smile and forced politeness, “Is there something we can do for you? We... I mean, I am following orders to track it down.”

“Yes, I know.” Uriel generally regarded Aziraphale with bored indifference at best, outright hostility at worst, but their tone was almost sad. Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other and then back at them in confusion.

“Did – does Gabriel want you to supervise?” asked Aziraphale slowly.

“He did not order me here, no. I’ve come to offer aid.”

“What? Why? You can’t stand us.” Crowley retorted.

Uriel sneered. “I don’t like you at all, demon. But I’m not here for you. I’m here for Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale absentmindedly began to tug at the bottom of his jacket, remembering Crowley in his body being dragged away by this particular Angel. “Yes, well. I appreciate that. I do.” He cleared his throat. “It’s just, well you’ve never seemed particularly interested in helping me before.”

“When you stopped the war, you and your demon boyfriend robbed me of my chance to get vengeance on the demons for killing Aleph. I don't like either of you.” Uriel agreed. “But this is different.” They stopped and looked away from Aziraphale and Crowley. “I have outlived my own child. You should not have to kill yours. Let me take that burden from you”

Aziraphale softened at the obvious pain in Uriel’s voice. Of course Uriel would offer to help. They understood after what had happened to Aleph. And, honestly, he hadn't been sure if he would have been able to swing the sword that he carried in the black bag on his hip. “Yes, thank you, Uriel. Your help would be most appreciated.”

“Are you expecting the Nephilim to come here?” Uriel spoke only to Aziraphale, pointedly ignoring the demon.

“It stole a book from my shop and we think it might be trying to release the other Nephilim.” Aziraphale sighed and for a moment looked every second of his more than six thousand years. “We can’t let that happen. No matter what.”

Uriel nodded slowly. There was no need to voice how desperate the situation would become should the nephilim manage to free the others. The two celestial beings and one occult being continued walking towards the castle gates.

“There was a piece of the True Cross here once, called the Rood.” Aziraphale continued. “I thought it was lost forever, but it seems that a few _ demons _got a hold of it some time ago and switched it out.”

_ “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” _ Crowley muttered . 

“Regardless, it is here somewhere. We just aren’t quite sure where.” Aziraphale looked around. The large main gates had been closed, but the smaller side doors would be easy enough to open with a small miracle. He snapped downwards quickly and the door sprang open obediently. “We need to find it before the nephilim does.”

They walked inside and began to fan out into the courtyard. Thanks to Heavenly intervention Security ignored them completely, something Crowley had more than once wished was a feature of demonic miracles. He'd had to get used to breaking in with little more than his wits and some minor magic. It wasn't fair, but he wasn't going to complain about it now.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile to himself, even despite the tension. It had been so long since he had been inside a real castle that he nearly forgot how large they really were. He walked along the perimeter and occasionally stole glances back at the Angel and Demon. Uriel was stiff and wary; Aziraphale knew they were ready for a fight if it came to it. 

When it came to it. 

He paused for a moment when he saw a small area encircled with gravestones. He did not know there was a small cemetery inside the castle. Upon closer inspection it seemed that it was for the soldier’s dogs. He let out a small huff of amusement and turned to Crowley, but saw the demon was occupied with a pamphlet of some kind.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called out gently as he walked over to his friend. Crowley was standing next to a rack of pamphlets, but the one in his hands held his attention completely.

“Aziraphale,” he said, his snake eyes peeking out over the top of his sunglasses, “I think I know why this all looks so unfamiliar.”

He held the pamphlet out towards Aziraphale. “The buildings over there, they’re all new. Well, obviously new. But they’re on new land. Old land? They’re built _ on top of what was there before _.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in understanding. “So the pub you were drinking in…”

“Yeah, it’s underneath. But look,” Crowley pointed at the pamphlet, “It’s still down there. All the old roads and things. They do ghost tours down there now. If we go - “

“You can find the relic!” Aziraphale’s excitement was contagious and Crowley had to fight to stop himself from smiling back at him like an idiot. 

"Tours? Will that be a problem?" Uriel looked at Crowley directly for the first time this evening.

"Nah, last tour was hours ago according to this. We should have the place to ourselves."

Uriel nodded. Crowley glanced down at the little map on the pamphlet and led the way through the unfamiliar streets to find the one he knew.

Uriel walked with Aziraphale, both angels following the demon through the maze that was Edinburgh. 

"I don't know what it is you see in him," Uriel muttered. Aziraphale knew Crowley could hear, but was ignoring them, something for which Aziraphale was eternally grateful. Now was not the time for a confrontation.

"You don't know him," he said firmly, "I know you've had a bad experience, but he's more like us than you could imagine."

Uriel snorted but didn't push the point.

“Nearly there,” Crowley said, steady but tense. “Should just be around the next block.”

Nothing felt familiar yet, not really, but Crowley was sure that this must be it. It was the only thing that made sense. The humans had simply done what they did everywhere - they built on the bones of the societies that came before them. Over and over and over again. The streetlights seemed a bit dimmer here, and Crowley wondered if that was done purposefully to make their little ghost tours more interesting. He tripped on the uneven walkway and would have fallen if Aziraphale hadn’t quickly grabbed his hand and steadied him. 

It was strange to feel the Angel’s warm, plump hand in his and for a moment Crowley hesitated. It was a level of familiarity and physical intimacy that they did not allow themselves, but he was a selfish creature by nature and a not insignificant part of him did not want to let go. He could already feel Aziraphale wavering, the warm hand twitching slightly in his.

"Are you two quite alright there?" Uriel's sneering voice sheared through the moment. "Hardly the time for hand holding and romance."

Crowley gave Aziraphale's hand a light squeeze and released it. He continued walking towards the entrance to Mary King’s Close forcing his swagger of confidence and leaving Aziraphale to slowly clench and unclench his hand. 

"This it then?" Uriel asked.

Aziraphale caught up and peered down, “Seems a bit spooky down there.”

“You aren’t afraid, are you angel?” teased Crowley. He turned and grinned slightly. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

It was _ meant _ to be more teasing than it actually came out, a joke of offering protection to a celestial being from ghosts that did not exist, but Crowley’s delivery had lacked that biting edge to it. 

“Right. Yes, well.” Aziraphale blushed slightly and cleared his throat. “We best hurry. It’s getting late. Or early. Let’s get this done while it’s deserted. We have no reason to believe the creature knows the real location of the artefact, but I'd like to secure it quickly all the same ”

Crowley nodded and began to descend into the underground city, the lock on the iron gate being no match for even the most minor of demonic magic. Aziraphale and Uriel followed closely behind. None of them knew quite what to expect; Aziraphale had not been to Edinburgh since he lost that coin flip several hundred years prior and if Uriel had any familiarity they were keeping it to themselves. Crowley had fuzzy, alcohol laced memories of a city that was long dead and buried, like most of his memories of the fourteenth century. The stonework was impressive in places, a testament to a craftsmanship humans seemed to have abandoned long ago. Crowley, as a lover of driving and good roads, could never understand how roads built by the Romans hundreds of years ago were in better condition than many of its contemporary counterparts. _ Craftsmanship. Pride in their work _. 

The lights flickered dimly throughout the old alleyways, but it was enough to see what remained of the rooms, buildings, and hovels. The narrow walkways were empty and cold, only a handful of objects left behind. _ Decoration _ , Aziraphale supposed, _ but recently placed _. It was a strange feeling, a hollowness of feeling, of warmth, while also pressing so closely it was almost suffocating. Aziraphale was, of course, an angel before all things. He had walked alleyways like this many times. He was no stranger to the filth and disease close quarters like these created. But he was also a creature of comfort, and this physical reminder of how far humanity had come reminded him of how grateful he was for his warm bookshop, good food, and expensive wine. Thoughts of the state of his bookshop flooded his mind and he quickly forced them away.

Crowley continued along the alleyway, looking into each and every opening they came upon and hoping something would look familiar. He wanted desperately to find the bloody thing and get out of here. Though the humans were now using this as a bit of fun, making money off of the easily scared patrons of ghost tours, they could not take away what it had once been. A bustling city, overcrowded and filthy. He walked from room to room, building to building. The plague had been through the underground city. Hundreds of years ago and yet Crowley could still feel the pain and misery woven into the dirt and stone as if it were only yesterday. With cramped alleyways and poor lighting it was reminding him more and more of Hell. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale stood close, nearly touching. It was hard to avoid, hard to ignore. “Maybe it would be best if we split up. There’s quite a bit more here than I expected.”

“Ngh.” 

“Eloquent as always, dear.” Aziraphale smiled. “Still, there’s a lot of area to cover and unless you recognize anything this is going to take some time.”

"Aziraphale? Demon? You might want to come and take a look at this!" Uriel's voice bounced off the stone walls. They followed it to and adjoining cellar.

Uriel was crouched with their hands held over the bodies. Two of them. A young man and woman who had obviously found their own way into the subterranean labyrinth and would never come out again. 

"No, no, nonono," Crowley said, "It can't be her. How would she even know to come here? There's three demons who know about it, nobody else." 

"The demons must be working with the nephilim," Uriel said, standing and glaring daggers as Crowley, "Makes as much sense as anything else." 

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley's wrist, which he assumed was to calm him, but then quietly said, "Is it possible that these demons you knew could have..."

"No. Bex is dead, and Tristus..Tristus isn't on a state to help _ anyone _ with _ anything. _ This isn't us!" Crowley shook his head. "How long have they been here?"

Uriel stretched their hands over the bodies again and took a sharp breath. "Not long! The nephilim is probably still here!" Uriel spoke to Aziraphale. " You take him and find the relic, and if she gets past me you do whatever it takes to keep the relic from her. _ Promise _!"

"Of course."

"Go!"

Crowley’s only response was to reach back and grab for Aziraphale’s hand. He pulled the angel along with him down another winding, narrow walkway and did not let go. Aziraphale pulled the sword out from the messenger satchel and dutifully followed, concern and panic etched on his face. They relied on the light of the sword, trusting Crowley's eyesight and memory to do most of the work in finding their way. 

The stakes were high, had always been high, but _ she was here. _Part of Crowley wanted to meet her, to see her just once, and another part abruptly remembered the other nephilim, the grown ones that had terrorized the world over five thousand years ago. 

“I think I know this intersection.” Crowley said, looking up and around for other signs that he was in the right place. “There were merchants here. I think. Hard to be sure, but the way these alleyways come together… It seems right.”

Aziraphale nodded and looked around. “Do you recognize anything else?”

“It’s differently, obviously, but...” Crowley closed his eyes and tried to imagine the city as it had been hundreds of years ago. The shops that lined the streets then had been plentiful, but not nearly as cramped as it was now. “There was a woman with a pottery shop across the way. A blacksmith. Oh, the pub!”

Crowley opened his eyes and glanced around, getting his bearings, and purposefully walked down a slightly larger alleyway. “The pub was down this way. The booze was terrible, but it did the job.”

Crowley continued to pull Aziraphale along by the hand. Neither of them mentioning it or even daring to look at one another for fear of breaking this small, tentative allowance. Within moments Crowley had stopped again outside of a very dilapidated building of sorts. 

“Is this it?” Aziraphale asked. He eyed the rubble nervously. 

“No. No I didn’t leave it _ here _.” Crowley said with a dismissive wave of his free hand. “Doubt this place stayed a pub for long really. Wasn’t that good. No, I remember leaving and I still had the Rood with me.”

“Well, what else was nearby?” asked Aziraphale. “You thought it funny to replace the Rood. Where would you have put the real one?”

“Somewhere amusing of course.” Crowley shrugged. “Somewhere demonic enough to upset your prissy lot - Oh!”

“You remember?” Aziraphale’s eyes lit up excitedly.

“Yeah, yeah I think I do.” Crowley grinned, “But I don’t think you’re going to like it much.”

It only took a little bit of retracing drunken footsteps from several hundred years prior, but eventually they stood outside of, what looked to Aziraphale, just another crumpled hole in the wall. Crowley was full of more cheer than Aziraphale had seen all day however, and it warmed his heart. Temporarily, at least.

“Oh man, angel. You should have been there.” Crowley grinned wickedly. “This was quite the hot spot back in the day.”

“Another pub then?”

“No - a brothel.” Crowley waited for the lecture that was sure to come. It didn’t take long. 

“Crowley! Really.” Aziraphale looked scandalized. “This is where you brought the Rood?!”

“Well, yeah. I mean, figured your lot wasn’t going to find it here.” He released Aziraphale’s hand and walked inside. He knelt down and carefully inspected the stone floor. “And besides, it was a piece of the True Cross - “

“Exactly!”

“Exactly, yeah. It was Jesus’ cross. He wasn’t nearly as uptight as you angels. Figured he’d get a kick out of it.” He was crawling around on the floor now, searching. “I mean, his best friend was a prostitute, right? Mary Magdalene?”

“You know full well she _ wasn’t _ a prostitute.” Aziraphale frowned. “Still, revisionist history aside, this was a terrible place to put it.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, angel.” Crowley snapped and a stone easily removed itself from the floor revealing an open space below. He reached down and carefully lifted out a small object wrapped in frayed and dusty cloth. 

They found Uriel towards the entrance, slumped against the iron gate. They were badly hurt; several gashes along their arms shone bright with blood. They grimaced in pain and moved to stand but fell back against the door. "It fled," they said, panting slightly.

Crowley, against his better judgement, moved forward to help Uriel, who snatched their arm back with a look of revulsion. "Don't touch me, Demon!"

Crowley raised his hands in peace and took a few steps back. He was in no mood for an argument with temperamental angels.

"May I?" Aziraphale offered. For a moment it looked like Uriel would refuse, but they backed down and let Aziraphale close enough to sing the healing miracle that began to knit together the broken flesh. 

They were close when Uriel whispered, "You disgust me." 

Aziraphale jerked back, his song faltering.

"I always thought the problem with you came from being on Earth too long, " they continued, "I actually felt sorry for you. But it turns out you were rotten from the beginning, weren't you?"

"Why would you say this? What have I done.. "

Uriel hissed, "I saw it! Your monster. It may have your colouring but" Uriel leaned closer, voice dropping low, " it looks like its mother! " Uriel spat on the floor and then, without looking back, turned and left.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Uriel walked quickly through the barren white halls of Heaven, their footsteps echoing off the walls as the other angels hastily stepped aside. Uriel’s corporation had survived the encounter with the Nephilim, and with Aziraphale’s help was mostly healed, but they had not bothered to miracle away the dried blood or torn clothing.

_ Let them see. _ Uriel thought. _ Let them see what I have been doing in service to our Lord. _

The other angels stayed out of the way, and one nearly toppled off his segway after panicking and trying to quickly move out of their path. Uriel wasn’t an angel to be trifled with on the best of days; God only knew what would happen to anyone foolish enough to get in their way when they looked like that. Uriel usually did not care what the other angels thought. They had been Gabriel’s enforcer for a very long time, and had gotten quite good at it. The other angels seemed to respect Uriel, but there was also a smattering of fear in there.

Uriel watched them in peripheral vision. Two of the angels had been talking and laughing before realizing Uriel was nearby. The laughter died on their lips as they watched, safe against a wall and well out of the way. Uriel maintained a passive face as they continued by them, but felt the familiar pangs of jealousy. The only person Uriel had ever truly allowed to get close had been dead and gone for millennia. Uriel had learned a hard lesson that day.

The door to Gabriel’s office was the same unblemished white that dominated the rest of Heaven, but the glass window had his name etched in golden script. Uriel opened the door and stepped inside without knocking, their patience too thin to be concerned with privacy or manners.

Gabriel looked up from his desk, eyes wide and started. “Uriel. What has happened to you?”

“The Nephilim,” Uriel spat.

Gabriel stood up and walked around his desk towards Uriel. “You’ve seen it? Is it – did you –“

“No.” Uriel said flatly. “It lives.” Their mouth twisted in disgust. “I may not have been as prepared as I thought I was. But Gabriel, there is something else.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Gabriel said calmly, “You know where it is then, yes? We will just send down a team to take care of it. Fighting a nephilim is difficult. There’s no reason to take unnecessary risks to bring it in.”

“You don’t understand. I’ve _ seen _it.” Uriel hissed, “There is more to this than you were told.”

Gabriel took a step back and leaned on his desk. “Well then,” he gestured openly with both hands, “fill me in.”

The last time Aziraphale and Crowley had shared a bed had almost been a disaster.

Afterwards Aziraphale tried to find something to blame it on. Crowley was the embodiment of temptation itself, but then, he always had been so that was hardly an excuse. Neither was the fact that they had been drinking for several hours, passing the bottle back and forth and drinking straight from the neck. This, too, they had done before.

No, it had been fear.

They were lying on Crowley's bed, drinking from his terrible stemless glassware, which Aziraphale considered only marginally better than the bottle. _ It's double walled, Aziraphale, it won't warm the wine. _And they were only lying there because there wasn't a single stick of comfortable furniture in Crowley's flat suitable for two people.

The world hadn't ended. The Antichrist had spared them all. Aziraphale was back in his own body. He felt exhausted but elated. Almost euphoric.

They'd defied Heaven and Hell. There was a puddle of black goo in one of the doorways that couldn't be miracled away. They would be hunted down and Aziraphale was terrified. 

It was this mix of elation and fear that he blamed. It had been him who lunged at his demon and had kissed him, clawed at clothing that was suddenly no longer there. Crowley had not resisted, not at first. He'd wrapped his long legs around Aziraphale and pulled him close. But when Aziraphale had thrust himself inside, just the once, he'd been pushed back with more force than one could expect from Crowley's slender frame.

"Angel, _ what the heaven are you thinking _? You know we can't.."

Aziraphale had tried to explain, tried to justify himself. "It doesn't matter anymore. ." He had moved tentatively forward, placing is hands on Crowley's face to make him see. "It won't matter. My dear, we aren't going to survive this. You see that, don't you? Neither Heaven nor Hell will forgive what we've done."

Crowley had battered him away. "You think I _ don't _ want to just say 'fuck it all'? I literally lost everything I cared about today. I even lost the bleeding Bentley!" His voice softened. "I lost _ you, _you idiot. And I didn't think you were coming back." Crowley rubbed his face with his hands, and the exhaustion of the day weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Aziraphale hadn't thought of what the demon had been through. He'd been so caught up in finding a body and saving the world, but the memory of Crowley's face in the pub pushed itself forward. _ I lost my best friend. _

"Crowley, I'm sorry," he said.

"It's just... you're back. And I wasn't sure if you were ever coming back. And if you think I'm just going to give up, that I'm not going to fight to keep you here you have another thing coming."

This...verged on things they never talked about.

"We can't just run, Crowley. They'll find us eventually." Aziraphale thought of the bandstand, and his heart breaking.

"No. We can't," Crowley said. He'd tried, but he knew it was pointless, had known it all along really, but he would have done anything to keep Aziraphale safe. "You're the cleverest person I know. We can outsmart them. We've been doing it for centuries, angel. And there's still the prophecy."

He'd been right, of course Crowley had been right. But Aziraphale couldn't believe how close he'd come to making the same mistake he should have learned from five and a half thousand years ago.

And now he sat on the edge of a motel bed, here on the outskirts of Edinburgh thinking of all his mistakes. 

"You still worried about the one bed thing?" Crowley had headed straight for the showers not long after they arrived, leaving Aziraphale with his thoughts, but was now drying himself with one of the cheap white bath towels supplied with the room, too exhausted to miracle them better. 

Aziraphale shook his head. "Believe it or not I can control myself for one evening." He doubted he could make much of an effort even if it hadn't been such a terrible idea. It had been a stressful twenty four hours.

"You'd have to ravish my unconscious body if you can't." Crowley yawned to emphasize his point, manifested himself some loose black trousers and climbed into bed. The cheap curtains did a terrible job of blocking out the light but it didn't seem to bother him. Aziraphale sat back against the headboard. Unlike Crowley he didn't sleep, but that didn't mean he could go without rest altogether. Just a couple of hours, then he would call Anathema for another reading.

Crowley rolled over and snaked an arm around him, resting his head on Aziraphale's chest. 

"My dear, I don't think this is wise."

"Oh, shut it. The last couple of days has been shit and we could both use a little comfort." Instead of arguing Aziraphale found himself stroking small circles on the demon's back. Comfort. 

He expected Crowley had fallen asleep, and was surprised when he spoke. "Do you think Uriel's going to cause trouble for you?"

"I honestly don't know. I don't think Heaven will act until the nephilim is captured."

"I guess we'll deal with that then." Crowley let out a sigh. There was not enough energy left in either of them for fear. What would come, would come.

Very, very softly, Crowley said, "She's got your hair and eyes." 

Aziraphale buried his face in Crowley's copper locks and held him tight.

He gave Crowley as much time as he could before gently waking him to call Anathema. 

Crowley explained the situation, then pushed some buttons and his screen became a video. It took a few moments to set things up, but finally Anathema was shuffling the deck.

"Ok, you guys ready?" she asked. 

She split the deck and pulled out three cards. She turned the first over, frowned, then held it to the camera for them to see.

It was The Lovers again. 

"This could just mean the reading is for you guys, like the last time it came up. But it's best not to just assume because the card also means temptation of sensual... um, probably not that... also important decisions and consequences."

She turned over the next card. "This one is one of Molly's. I don't think I've ever seen it on another deck. The Maze. Her notes say that it represents choices." The maze didn't seem to have a solution, and every dead end offered some new beast waiting to devour the wanderer. None of the choices seemed to be good ones.

Aziraphale leaned over Crowley's shoulder for a better look at the screen. "In this instance I think the card is more literal. In my research I found that one of the items needed for the ceremony is in the _ Labyrinth de horta _ in Barcelona, so I suspect that's where the creature is headed next. I also know what it's after. Anathema, if you could please turn over the final card?"

She did. It was the Five of Cups. "This one means regret usually. Emotional upheaval." 

Crowley and Aziraphale didn't look at each other, but Crowley would wager all the souls in Hell that they were thinking the same thing. Not that it would help them find the nephilim.

Anathema held out the card to the camera. It showed one figure standing over the body of another, one cup in the dead man's hand, another two on their side on the floor. The woman standing over him was holding the remaining cups, poised to drink from one. _ Poison. _ A water fountain flowed behind them.

"Poisoned water?" Crowley screwed up his face. "What's so Holy or Unholy about poisoned water. Oh! Holy Water!"

"Poison for demons," Aziraphale smiled, "This spring was made holy by the tears of Saint Eulalia's mother after the girl was tortured and murdered. It isn't commonly known, I am not sure any humans at all are aware that the spring is holy. Heaven has always considered it a private family affair."

"You _ know _ how I feel about Spain, angel. Not my favorite memories. It's the same way you feel about Poland."

"We have no choice, Crowley. And a lot has changed since then, I'm sure."

He was right of course, a lot of places had terrible history and moved on. It didn't mean Crowley had to like it.

The flight was just over three hours, but the only airline with seats available direct without having to wait until the next day was one of those horrible budget airlines that Crowley had been very directly responsible for. He'd personally gone over the 737-800's looking for ways to minimise legroom and remove comfort. He'd taken pleasure in suggesting people pay for basic amenities that were definitely not worth the price. The in-flight sales pitch, the rock hard seats, the deliberately misleading check in procedures. He'd taken pride in his work, distilling everything that was unpleasant about air travel and packaging it up in a deal people would still willingly pay for.

The £55 fee for not pre-printing your own boarding pass was just the icing on the cake.

Sometimes he hated himself.

Crowley couldn't get his legs to fit properly, jostling the seat in front of him every time he moved. As much as he loved the softness of Aziraphale's body, he couldn't help but wish that both of them were a bit smaller so as to fit properly into the seats. Say, the size of six year olds. 

The man in front turned to glare at Crowley, who opened his mouth and hissed, earning him a sharp elbow from Aziraphale. Or perhaps Aziraphale had just moved, it was hard to tell in these claustrophobic seats.

Two hours to go.

They caught a taxi from the Airport, and Crowley surprised the driver with his fluent Catalan. Aziraphale, who knew no Catalan and barely any Castilian could only just nod and hope Crowley wouldn't get them into trouble. The demon and the taxi driver chatted amiably as they drove to Horta, dropping them off near the Velodrome. 

As they walked up the hill, they looked around the small groups of families for any sign of the nephilim. 

"I hope we can identify the creature when we see it," Aziraphale said.

"Uriel was able to. She probably stands out."

Perhaps in other circumstances that would be true. When they reached the front gate they realised that not only was the park packed with families, but due to some strange festival all of the children were in costume. A three foot tall knight in silver foil chased an equally tiny dragon. Two girls dressed as Alice in Wonderland and the Queen of Hearts skipped hand in hand. Some older teenagers, possibly students at the local University, were taking photographs of each other dressed as elves and fairies against the stone and vine covered walls. Quite frankly, both the demon and the angel could get their wings out and fit right in. This wasn't going to be easy. 

And with the number of people, of children in attendance, it was potentially very, very dangerous as well.

They entered the main park near the Desvalles building and Crowley nodded towards a fountain with a tree growing over it. A small boy was running his hands through the water while his mother checked her phone. "Is that Holy Water?"

"Diluted, but yes so do be careful. It's strongest closest to the source and I think that's further up the hill from my research. _ Conversations _ was very clear that this particular water has specific properties needed for the ceremony. Unfortunately either the human author didn't understand much of what was being said to him, or the demon was being deliberately obtuse."

"I always assumed they'd been making stuff up for a laugh, to be honest. What would anyone want to get out of Hell anyway? Aside from nephilim, that is."

"You," Aziraphale said, unguarded and honest, "I was always afraid they'd come and take you if they found out that we'd been spending time together. You always warned me it would be worse than 'a strongly worded note' so I wanted to be prepared."

Crowley felt his throat tighten. Never in an eternity would he have ever felt worth that kind of effort.

Neither of them had visited the park before, and there were no handy tourist maps to guide them, so they wandered around the mazes and pavilions with Aziraphale checking every fountain and grotto to see if they were getting closer. 

The neoclassical garden, with all of its Greek statues and pavilions seemed to be themed around love, which might have related to the Lovers card Anathema showed them, but it might not. The older garden, the romantic garden, had several references to death and it was these paths they followed back to a large splashing waterfall. 

For Crowley to go any closer would have been suicide. The area around the waterfall was packed with families, with children splashing in the manmade structure. All were being covered in a fine mist of water coming from the fall. 

"I don't dare go closer myself," Aziraphale said. He had his arm out, holding Crowley back despite Crowley not being a total idiot with a death wish. "If I do I risk getting water on me, and that puts you in danger. There's no way the nephilim will be able to get close." 

"Should we just wait here then? Hope to recognise her before she gets too close?"

Aziraphale considered this. "Staying nearby may be a good idea, but we don't know if it will even be here today. I wonder if there's a way to get closer to the source water without going near the waterfall?" 

They took the path to the left, which led them to a small courtyard with yet another fountain. A covered channel coming in from the waterfall flowed in from the right, mixed with the fountain, then flowed out again via an open stone channel. 

They weren't alone, hadn't been in any part of the garden so far. Crowley didn't bother to lower his voice so the University student curled up on the stone bench couldn't overhear; in his experience humans were good at ignoring what they didn't understand. "Do you think the fountain would dilute it too much? The waterfall runoff I mean?"

Aziraphale rummaged through his satchel and pulled out a tartan thermos.

"Did you get those on sale or something?" Crowley teased, "Have a whole stash of them under the kitchen sink?" Honestly, the angel never ceased to amaze him.

The angel in question ignored him and filled the thermos from the fountain. "It's as pure here as from the waterfall. I think they're both directly from the spring," he said as he meticulously dried his hands.

"So why doesn't it burn you too?" the University student asked, "I mean, you can't be killed by Hellfire, and neither can I. So I thought that if the waterfall hurt like shit when I tried to get close, then you'd be affected too, right _ dad? _"

Both the angel and the demon froze. Crowley had thought the girl was from the University and hadn't given her a second glance, but he could see now that the clothes she wore weren't a student's dishablé but scraps of clothing scavenged from demons, probably taken straight from their cooling bodies. She was tall, with hair like dandelion fluff, and piercing blue eyes like the angel who fathered her.

But _ Satan _ did she look like her mother.

The thin pattena of silver scales could have been part of a student's fantasy costume, but wasn't. Her eyes were slit like a cat's, full of anger and pain and…

_ Full. _

_ Not empty. _

_ "_Oh Lord!" Aziraphale cried, "What have I done?" With his free hand he reached into his satchel and pulled out the sword. 

"What the fuck are you doing, angel!" Crowley barely spared him a glance, eyes fixed on the nephilim. He could sense the casual menace coming from her, the capacity for violence. But he got that from every demon, and frankly from a lot of humans as well. The nephilim were soulless. That was the justification for keeping them locked down. They were soulless and this one ... wasn't.

"I don't want to hurt you,"Aziraphale said.

All three of them were painfully aware of the sword in Aziraphale's left hand and the uncapped flask of Holy Water in his right. 

"Yeah," the nephilim, Mem, drawled, "I can see that."

" You've killed. And attacked an angel-"

"- who attacked me first."

"And the others? The couple in Edinburgh?" 

The nephilim faltered, just for a moment, then shrugged.

Crowley raised his hands. "She's been raised by nephilim, angel. It's what she knows."

_ Mem, her name was Mem_, looked at him for the first time. It was like being stabbed through the heart. 

"And demons. Bet you didn't know that? Lamdeh can pull memories from your head, and he'd share them with us in Beth's mindroom."

Crowley shot a glance at Aziraphale. That was a _ lot _ of new information. A mindroom? A memory-stealing nephilim? The ramifications were huge.

"You're not like them," Aziraphale said softly, his voice full of pain and regret, "I didn't know, but I see that now. I think we should all talk..." 

"You're not like the other angels either, are you? Can't be killed by Hellfire." 

"You must have so many questions."

Mem edged closer. Her knees were slightly bent and her hands held cupped into claws. All the nephilim were fast and strong. One could spit acid. There was no telling what this one could do.

"No time. I need that flask." She bent her back knee as if preparing to launch. Aziraphale's sword burst into flame. 

"Stop!" Crowley yelled, "Both of you! Mem, those other nephilim aren't like you. They don't have souls. If you release them..."

"They are my family!" she spat, "Who the fuck are you?"

"Your mother." 

It happened quickly. Mem paused for a moment and looked at Crowley before narrowing her eyes and taking a step forward. For Aziraphale that was a step too far. He panicked, throwing the thermos full of Holy Water at Mem and launching himself sideways to tackle Crowley and force him out of the way.

The nephilim screamed. Only once.

_ 524 years After Eden _

They had both been sent to work on swaying a man in what Crawley uncharitably called "the arse-end of civilisation". 

"What's so special about this guy that both our lots want him?" he'd asked Aziraphale over a cup of the local spiced alcoholic beverage. 

"I think one of his ancestors is meant to build a boat," Aziraphale answered, draining the last of his cup and refiling it from the jar in front of them. 

"A boat? Really makes it all seem worthwhile, doesn't it?"

Aziraphale snorted in response. This really was the...backside end of civilisation. It was hot and dusty and Aziraphale couldn't see what was so special about some not-yet-born boat builder, but it did have the particular benefit of being far away from the other angels. 

The... tourists.

Crawley and Aziraphale had seen each other a handful of times since the walls of Eden. Despite what each felt they should be doing, they didn't actually regard each other with any particular enmity, even when working opposite ends of a job like this. Some of the other angels spoke with great fervor about "smiting those creatures of foul sin" but Aziraphale usually found himself doing less smiting and more sharing a cup of whatever the humans had fermented that year. In _ theory _ of course he hated Hell and all that dwelt within. In _ practice _ he found this particular dension of the Underworld to be pretty good company 

Better than the 'tourists' anyway.

"I understand," Aziraphale groused, "that they're all very interested in God's creation. I really do -"

" - try this, Aziraphale, they call it cheese -"

" - thank you. As I was saying, I understand their interest, but they barely put any effort at all into fitting in! Sure, many have adopted vaguely human forms, but then they go and slap a pair of wings on so everyone knows they're angels! Oh, actually the cheese is rather good, isn't it?"

"My lot aren't any better. They appear up here, without even bothering to hide their familiars, " Crawley absentmindedly touched the 'tattoo' snake on his face, "or worse. Scares the bejeezus out of the locals, but there's no finesse in that."

Aziraphale let out a hum of agreement.

They were eating in the little square building, scarcely more than a single room, that Crawley had acquired. The man they'd been sent to sway had remained frustratingly neutral and Good and Evil had officially knocked off for the day.

Their association with each other would most likely be heavily frowned upon if either side were aware, but it was just so difficult to remember that when they were on jobs like this. On a professional level they were enemies. On a personal level Crawley was telling rude jokes about a mule and a cantaloupe and Aziraphale was laughing so hard he got drink up his nose.

When they had drunk just enough to really let their guard down they would talk, openly and honestly in a way Aziraphale had never really talked to anyone. 

"Some of them have taken wives." he said. He had never even considered it for himself. Human lives were so short that there was simply no point in committing to one. Still, being with someone had a certain appeal.

"Ewww, that's disgusting. With a human? They're so...brief." Crawley made a face. "I like the children though. Oh not like that! I just like how they are, before they grow up. It must be really something to be able to create a whole person." 

"I've never created anything." 

"I used to."

Aziraphale wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He always felt it crossed a line to talk about _ before _ . Obviously Crawley had been an angel, but Aziraphale hadn't known him. He never asked, but he collected little bits of information whenever his companion mentioned something and knew that _ before _ the demon had something to do with the stars.

Aziraphale reached his hand out and covered Crawley's, giving it a gentle squeeze. Crawley froze for a moment, then moved slightly so their fingers were entwined.

"You need to stop doing that," Crawley said softly.

"Doing what?" This didn't feel wrong. And Crawley hadn't exactly moved away. It didn't feel wrong a all, just...big.

"Stop tempting me."

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. 

"You're tempting me to fall in love. That's what you lot do isn't it?" Crawley smiled like he had on the walls of Eden 

Aziraphale couldn't help but smile in return. "It isn't tempting! Angels don't tempt. We inspire." 

Crawley snorted and grinned. Aziraphale continued. "Anyway, you're the one who tempts. And the thing you keep doing to those dates with your tongue definitely isn't _ love" _

"What? This thing?" Crawley said, doing it again. Aziraphale laughed for the sheer joy of it. Crawley had a date stuck on the end of his tongue and was waggling it at him. 

"You're a fool." Crawley popped the date back into his mouth. Aziraphale kissed him.

"Sorry," he said, pulling away. He'd never done that before, not to anyone. 

"S’ok. You're right." Crawley said, his eyes flickering to Aziraphale's mouth. "I am."

That was the first day. 

When the sun came up on the second day they had reduced to world to one small, square building, sparsely furnished. Their universe had a sleeping mat and a table, and acres of each other. They had mapped the landscape of each other with soft kisses and touches and theirs was a joyous world. Aziraphale had accidentally spilt some honey on them and despite Crawley's very best efforts at licking them clean, they were still finding sticky patches. Much to their surprise Crawley turned out to be ticklish, something Aziraphale exploited with almost demonic delight at making him squirm and squeal. Crawley had discovered that Aziraphale would lose the ability to speak if Crawley scraped his teeth down his neck. 

This is what it meant to know someone.

At the end of the second day, as Crawley lay on Aziraphale's chest, he said, "We can't be like this once we leave here. Bad enough us being friends, but neither side will stand for _ this _. You know that, right?" 

Aziraphale's fingers didn't stop carding through his long red hair, not even for a heartbeat. "I guess," the angel said, "that we'll just have to stay here then."

The letter arrived on the third day. It sat cold and crisp on the little table, next to the plate of fruit Crawley had prepared for them. It was obviously Heaven's work. They both stared at it for a while, clutching each other's hands with tendon-straining fear, before Aziraphale let go, reached for the letter and opened it. He had no choice. They both knew this wasn't going to last. 

He read quickly, his hand coming up to cover his mouth at the horror. 

"Do they know?" Crawley asked, voice tight.

Aziraphale shook his head. "It's worse. Oh, what have we done?" He put the letter on the table so Crawley could read it, weighing it down with a knife so the demon wouldn't have to touch it.

"But that's with _ humans _. It won't...it won't be like that with us. It can't be."

"It'll be worse," Aziraphale closed his eyes, "they're only human, _ you're a demon _. Will you know if you are pregnant?"

Crawley braced himself against the table, all the lines of his body taut and strained. He shook his head. "I can't tell, not yet." 

"Maybe we have been lucky?"

"Yeah. Lucky." 

The universe they had created was crumbling to dust. 

It was months before they would see each other again, each going their separate ways to find out what they could about this new creature, this nephilim. Even as Aziraphale travelled to Eyid, well before he encountered another angel he heard tales of the monstrous children. When he reached the city he found angels weeping and ranging. Some had tried to hide their terrible children and many had paid for it. Aziraphale said nothing, just helped to clean up the mess as the angels debated what to do. 

What he heard disturbed him 

There was a thread, as thin and fine as a nerve. Aziraphale noticed it the moment he and Crawley had parted, and he could feel it stretch all the way to wherever the demon was. He followed it back to find Crawley in a market in a small town not far enough away. He was presenting female, with his long hair braided and showing all the signs of a woman with child. 

Crawley caught sight of him and motioned him to an alley where they would have some privacy. Aziraphale's heart ached and he wanted nothing more than to sink to his knees and press his lips to that rounded belly. _ My child, my childmychildmychild... _ but that would have only made things impossible. 

"I saw one rip a demon in half and consume his heart. It ate his soul." Crawley said, disgust and fear evident in his voice. "Even Hell is terrified of them." 

Aziraphale felt the bile rising in his throat. "The angels are putting together to capture or kill the remaining ones. I think they're involving Hell on this but I'm not sure. Crawley..." He reached out unthinking, and the demon took a step back out of arm's reach.

"Crawley, you need to be careful. Stay away from me until it's time for it to be born. Some...some angels are killing the women." 

"Killing pregnant women?"

"Yes, the ones who have lain with angels. To stop the nephilim being born. If they see you like this they'll kill you too." 

Crawley looked skyward and let out a shout of fury. "Is this funny to you, God? Is this funny? You bastard!" 

"Crawley!"

"No!" The demon turned on him, teeth gnashing in fury, "don't you _ dare _ lecture me on divine love or forgiveness or shit like that. "Divine love?" He yelled skyward again. "You stopped loving me so no one else was allowed to? Only YOU are allowed to create? What about us? _ What the fuck about us?!" _

"Crawley please, you'll draw attention to yourself!" Aziraphale put his arms out again, not quite connecting. "Do you really want to spend the last months of your life in anger?"

"What do you mean, the last months?"

Aziraphale felt as if he'd been kicked in the guts. Did Crawley really not know? He assumed...

"The mother's don't survive the birth. None of them. I'm so, so sorry."

He would remember it for the rest of his days, Crawley standing there in the hard midday shadows, hair braided one size and one hand resting on a swollen belly, realising that all of eternity was gone and all that was left was a handful of months. 

"So this is a death sentence?" Crawley said, rubbing his belly gently. Aziraphale wanted desperately to take him in his arms but knew that if he did, he would never let go. He wasn't selfish enough to rob Crawley of the little time he had left.

Instead he spoke. "It's best if we keep apart until the birth, you'll have more chance that they won't find you that way. Go somewhere, hide somewhere. Pretend... pretend that this will be a normal child, the child you always wanted. Pretend that when I return we will be happy and have the life we wanted together. I'll...deal with what happens after."

"You're going to kill it?" Crawley asked. Then, to Aziraphale's silence, "I guess at least I won't have to live with that."

“Well…” Gabriel said breathlessly as he ran a hand through his hair. “That was unexpected. There was no reason back then to ask about the…mother. They all died in childbirth.”

“All the _ human _ mothers.” Uriel stressed.

“Yes, of course. There isn’t a precedent for this. A nephilim is a child of an angel and a human. So what does that make this abomination?” This was shaping up to be a rather bad day for Gabriel, which was saying something really because he had a number of truly bad days over the entirety of existence. More of them seemed to have involved Aziraphale than the Archangel was comfortable with.

“I don’t know.” Uriel frowned. “The ne – creature doesn’t seem anywhere near as powerful as the Nephilim. It was behaving erratically. It may not speak; it did not speak to me. It _ has _ killed.”

“Well, that’s really all we need to know then, isn’t it?” Gabriel clapped his hands together as if the problem had been solved. And, at least in his own mind, it had. “It needs to be stopped, permanently. It cannot be allowed to release the actual nephilim into the world. Thank you, Uriel. I’m going to get Michael so we can come up with a game plan. We’ve got this.”

Gabriel clasped Uriel’s shoulder with a free hand and smiled. They would fix this soon enough and then everything could go back the way it was before. Uriel nodded and watched as Gabriel set off. For a moment Uriel almost pitied Aziraphale and Crowley. It was unlikely that their child was going to be allowed to live now. Not after taking innocent human lives. Not after trying to free the nephilim.

But the moment passed quickly when Uriel remembered what she looked like. The creature was a physical manifestation and proof of Aziraphale’s moral failing. Uriel’s wife had been sweet and innocent and pure. They had loved her completely and that love had, unfortunately, created a nephilim. It was cruel, to turn something so full of love into something twisted and vile. But at least Uriel knew that it had been born of love.

Aziraphale on the other hand…He had lain with the enemy and created an abomination. He did not deserve sympathy or pity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're VERY interested in hearing from you after this chapter!  
Also, please boot us a kudos if you haven't already.


	5. Chapter 5

"What the _ fuck _ did you do!" Crowley screamed, grabbing Aziraphale by the lapels. 

"It's alright," Aziraphale said, voice shaking, "If Hellfire didn't kill her, Holy Water won't either."

"You don't know that! You don't know that for sure!" Crowley let him go and fisted his hands through his own hair. Aziraphale fought with himself to keep his unsteady legs from failing him. Crowley made to move towards where their nephilim had been standing. Aziraphale grabbed him roughly by the arm and pulled him back. 

"Don't! There's Holy Water all over the path. I'll... I'll.."

"Check and see if our daughter's a bubbling pile of goo?"

"_Don't." _ Aziraphale's glare was enough to still the demon. He watched as Aziraphale walked over to where the Bakelite thermos had shattered, littering the ground with shards of plastic and deadly water. Aziraphale crouched down to check the debris. _ It's not fair! Itsnotfairitsnotfair … _

"She's gone." Aziraphale said, "Not dead, just not here." 

That was impossible. Contrary to popular belief, angels and demons don't have the ability to teleport. Heaven and Hell are, however, connected to all places at all times. Although it's more convenient to use the main thoroughfares connecting particular landmarks and buildings, it was technically possible to travel via...

"The backroads! Angel, is there a crack in the pavement at all?” 

"Yes," Aziraphale answered, "the surface is in disrepair and there's a crack about the length of a man's hand." 

In all the in-between places it was technically possible to slide into Hell. Children knew it; it made it into their nursery rhymes and nightmares. _ Don't step on a crack or you'll Fall and break your back. _But the backroads weren't necessarily safe, even for demons, and getting irretrievably lost was one of the more pleasant possibilities. Still, Crowley had used them when necessary, as had several other demons he knew. 

"I can follow her."

Aziraphale stepped in front of him, and both of them became aware of the flaming sword he still held. "No. It's too risky. I know you've used the backroads before, but there's every chance she will kill you. And we both know that even if I gave you this sword you won't use it." 

"I could talk to her, Aziraphale. I remember the nephilim and she wasn't like them. She wasn't... empty." 

"I know." It came out like a sob. _ What had they done? How could they not have known? _"But even...even if she has a...soul, she still killed."

"She's hurt. And afraid."

"And that makes her dangerous." Aziraphale lowered his sword. A family rounded the path, the young children running ahead in their bright party clothes. Aziraphale put the sword back in the satchel before they could see more than a flicker.

"Call Anathema," he said, deciding on a plan of action. 

"Then waste more time getting on another flight and following the next clue?" 

Aziraphale shook his head. "Heaven has its own back roads and I think it's high time we made use of them."

Crowley snorted. "You're no longer welcome, remember? And I had my ticket punched about six thousand years ago. Those doors are closed."

"Well they can bloody well open!" Aziraphale snapped, "They want us to fix this, then they _ will _ open their doors so we can get where we need to go.” He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and looking straight at Crowley. “I’m sorry. Just...Please make the phone call."

Crowley did. His fingers itched for something to do and even though this was a stupid plan, at least it was something. 

While Crowley was on the telephone Aziraphale looked for somewhere suitable to access one of Heaven's many side corridors. Thankfully the park being built on the side of a hill meant there were plenty of stairs to choose from. 

Crowley hung up the phone, looking paler than Aziraphale had ever seen him. 

"It was blank, angel."

"What does that mean? And did she draw a second card?"

"You don't understand. They were _ all _ blank. She didn't know what it meant. Wasn't happy about it." 

There would be no more help there then. No instructions on how to move forward. No handy prophecy to guide them. Aziraphale extended his hand and, with fingers entwined, an angel and a demon climbed a stairway to Heaven.

The light stung his eyes, even through his glasses. So bright, so cold and bright. It hadn't hurt like this when he'd come through in Aziraphale's body, and he wondered how the demon Henlyre, that pathetic lickspittle, could stand it when he came up to bring the Hellfire for the trial. 

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah just make it quick. This place is likely to give me a headache if we stay too long." 

_ You'd think I'd miss the place. _ Crowley was surprised to realise he didn't. He'd never really spent a lot of time in the Office, had been more content working out in the stars so it really shouldn't have surprised him that it was those he missed most. But still, being back on Holy Lands should make him feel something other than fear and contempt. 

If he had to choose, if he really had to choose between Heaven and Hell, he'd choose Earth. But then, wasn't that what he and Aziraphale had done during the apocalypse? 

The back corridors of Heaven didn't have the skyline view and were mostly traversed by the hoverboarding lesser angels when anyone used them at all. 

"Do you actually have a plan, Aziraphale?"

"Not as such, no. I was hoping we'd think of something on the fly, so to speak." 

A demon in Heaven with no plan. _ Great. _

Crowley needed a moment. He needed a millennia. That had been _ his _ child back there and the rattling cage that he'd kept his emotions strained and groaned under the weight of it all. He'd had children, human children that he'd loved and raised. But this was... different. This was the one that had been taken from him, his very first, his very own. And he'd handed her over to be placed in a concrete box for five thousand years. _ Christ. _

"Aziraphale, stop. We need to figure things out. We need a proper plan. That was _ Mem back there!" _ He hated the name the angels had chosen for her. They had no right. _ They had no right to any of this! _ And Crowley had let them.

He had let them.

"I don't know!" Aziraphale crumbled before his eyes. "I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought..." He closed his eyes, but the tears came anyway. Crowley leaned forward and pressed his head against Aziraphale's, holding his wrists at the pulse point. Demons couldn't cry, but he'd take Aziraphale's tears as his own. 

"I remember what it was like," Crowley said, "We both thought we were breeding a monster. It's what they told us. It's what we saw happen with the other nephilim." 

Aziraphale shuddered. "I wanted to keep her," he confessed, "I wanted to take you both and run. But they would have hunted us down, Heaven and Hell both. And...I couldn't let myself believe we had made something good."

"Because I'm a demon." There was no anger or hurt in Crowley's voice, just a simple statement of fact. 

Uriel's voice was like a sharp, cold blade.

"Because if the children of angels and humans, whose souls were pure, resulted in monsters, then what kind of an abomination would a demon and angel make?" 

Crowley didn't let go for a moment. He gave Aziraphale's wrists a squeeze and held on for an extra second. They both knew the risks they were taking bringing Crowley through Heaven like this. One last breath and he let go, pushing back to see how screwed they were. If Uriel was alone..

Uriel wasn't alone. Seven other angels, all soldiers by the look of them and armed to the teeth. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough to hear you wanted to betray us and keep your abomination," Uriel said. 

"And you never considered it? Remind me, how _ did _ they catch Aleph, Uriel?" Aziraphale replied with more vitriol than Crowley had ever given him credit for.

Crowley thought they were about to be murdered on the spot. This wasn't going to get them anywhere. 

He raised a hand in peace. "You loved your son, Uriel. I know. We understand, better than anyone." Their gaze snapped to him, eyes sharp and furious, but Crowley continued. "That's why they were locked away instead of killed. Because we love our children."

Uriel's anger was softening under long buried pain. Aziraphale spoke gently, angel to angel, father to father. "We did what we thought was best. But you must understand, Mem is different, she-"

"We all thought ours would be different," Uriel said, their voice coated with tears, "We all believed after the first that ours would be different. That God would make an exception because our love was great. We all believed as you do. I believed. Even when my wife died I thought Mycha..._ Aleph...I mean Aleph _ ..I thought he would be different. And I had to see him tear out another angel's heart with his hands and _ eat it _before I truly understood what he was. You think I'm not sympathetic to you, but I understand more than you know. Which is why I understand that you're deluding yourself into thinking she's different." 

Uriel nodded towards the attending angels who surged forward and collected Crowley and Aziraphale, pinning their arms behind them.

"But she_ is _ different! You saw her, how can you say she hasn't got a soul if you saw her!" Crowley pleaded with Uriel as he was manhandled by two of the angels.

Uriel was still facing Aziraphale. "You're only fooling yourself. The only way to move on is to face the truth, otherwise it will send you mad." Then they turned to Crowley, looking on him as though for the first time. There was a deep sympathy in that look. "You too, demon." 

_ Don’t step on a crack or you’ll Fall…. _

The wet, clammy stone would eventually become concrete and the dull phosphate glow of the fungus would give way to the dull glow of fluorescent light tubes, but here on the backroads it was still more cave than office corridors. The dank smell of mould was still the same though.

_ It burned_. 

It wasn’t supposed to burn her, but it felt just like the Hellfire. She gingerly touched the streaks of painful red skin on her arm. They were receding. It was slow work, but not any slower than recovering from the flames. She wracked her brain trying to think. 

They told her that her _ father _ , the worthless bastard who had helped to create her and then immediately abandoned her in Hell, had been an angel. Their fathers had _ all _ been angels. But they told her that he was different. He was the one who could stand in the flames of Hellfire and _ live_. Well, she'd certainly been _ different _ alright. She had been so scared of touching, let alone passing through. Afraid that the flames that encircled the cell would destroy her completely. But they had promised she would be alright. And they had never, _ ever _ lied to her. They had cared for her from the beginning and were trapped like monsters. _ Her family_.

Mem tried to focus on the new burns, but she was so tired. She sat on the ground awkwardly, back against the cold stone wall and feet splayed out in front of her. This was more than her body had ever been through, and more than she expected. 

She had never even considered that Holy Water would burn her; she was the child of an angel. And then the mist from the waterfall had scorched her skin and there were suddenly _ so many questions. _ Then, unexpectedly, an answer. 

_ I'm your mother. _

She tried again to heal herself but felt what little energy she had left fizzle and snuff itself out. She had been going nonstop since breaking out of that bloody concrete prison; her body needed to rest.

None of the others had mothers. They remembered, all of them, that first death. Most of the nephilim rejoiced in their killings and they'd laughed at her because she had made none and couldn't remember that first. _ It couldn't be true _ that her mother had survived? And yet the evidence was written in red all up her arms.

The escape from Hell had been difficult. The travel, for someone only accustomed to a small area for millennia, was unfamiliar and taxing. Then there had been the angel at the underground city. That hadn’t gone to plan at all. The humans she stumbled across had produced a flood of emotions that confused and overwhelmed her. Mem did not understand all of them, but she did recognize pain. She grabbed the male by the back of his jacket and threw him back into a wall. He did not move. The female, far from relieved as Mem had expected, began to scream and ran to the male. Mem panicked. The screams would draw attention, something she could not afford. In a heartbeat the woman’s neck was snapped, and her body fell beside him. Mem ran through the damp dark underground for what felt like ages when the angel appeared. She had not been expecting another confrontation, and panic took over. The angel had said something to her, but Mem could only focus on the scowl on their face, the anger rolling off of them. She lashed out quickly, lacerated the angel’s arms and ran away. 

She was lucky that she got as far as she did. She looked around, frightened, and pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and tried to melt into the shadows.

Mem tried to picture the demon who claimed to be her mother. It didn't have the decoration the demons in Hell wore, or an obvious familiar, but that could have been because it was walking amongst humans. Mem's focus had been on her father, and she regretted not paying more attention to the demon present. Wasn't that meant to be unusual, a demon in the company of an angel… _ No, it wasn't_. She remembered a meeting in the mindroom when they had found out her father wouldn't burn. There had been another, a demon on trial for consorting with an angel and stopping the apocalypse.

It might have been her memory playing tricks on her, but they could have been the same. Same angular features. Red hair. But… 

But the demon had bathed in Holy Water without damage, and Mem's arms were red and sore where the water had splashed her.

Her body would recover. It was only a matter of time Things had been much simpler in her cell. Her family always nearby, always there to explain things she did not yet understand. They had not warned her about the _ other _ things she would feel. In her mind. Everything around her swarmed with emotions she did not know and could not understand. She understood anger. Sadness. Pain. But the humans she passed felt things that Mem could not put into words. And the angels she had run into, the things she felt from them. From her father and the demon who claimed to he her mother…

_ No _ , she thought, shaking her head, _ it does not matter. _ She had a job to do. She had the others to free. She would hide, heal, and plan. And then, when she was ready, she would save the only family she had ever known.

Mem grimaced as she forced herself up onto her feet. She stood still for a moment, one palm flat on the wall to keep herself steady. Further down the mostly damp and cool cave she could make out the dirty, flickering glow of Hell’s fluorescent lights. Mem pushed herself off the wall and walked further down the back road, eyes and ears alert for any sign at someone was near. She glanced behind her to see if she’d been followed.

Mem felt a pang in her chest. She needed to go back to the others. They would know what to do. They would know where she should go next and how to fix this. Mem’s resolve hardened as she opened a rickety old office door and walked in like she belonged. She looked around cautiously. The office was, perhaps unsurprisingly, empty. It had been empty when she came through the first time, and now she wondered if perhaps it was routinely ignored. The desks were molding thanks the dampness drifting from the cave and the towering piles of boxes and papers made it seem more storage than work space.

Mem walked towards the back of the office where the elevator was hiding behind two more towers of boxes. She slipped between them, taking care not to tip the fragile balance, and quickly pressed the elevator button. Contrary to popular fiction, Hell was spread over more than seven levels. It also went sideways, diagonally and in a direction known only by mathematicians, physicists and origami specialists 

The elevator made a sad attempt at a ding and the doors shook slightly before sliding open to reveal the ugly maroon interior. Mem started to move forward before freezing, startled. 

"Oi, you comin’ in then?” the demon barked, “Haven’t got all day you know. ‘M already late for this blasted presentation.”

There was a demon standing there, glaring angrily at a paper in his hands. His eyes were narrowed in focus, tight grip wrinkling the paper. Mem hesitated, torn between slipping away before he saw her or attacking him outright.

The demon had not looked up from his paper, instead he continued to grunt and mutter under his breath. It sounded like he was rehearsing a speech. Mem blinked and cautiously walked into the elevator, pressed the button for the bottom floor and then moved to the back of the elevator opposite of the demon and watched him.

The doors had closed before he finally looked up and took notice of which button she had pressed.

“Oh.” The demon said. “Sorry, ‘spect you aren’t really excited ‘bout goin’ down there then?” He looked at her sadly.

There was an awkward silence; the demon waiting for an answer that would not come and Mem sizing him up for battle. When it became clear to him that she wasn’t going to answer him he continued. “S’not that bad really. I did my shift a while back. More boring than anything. Feels weird though. Always felt like something was touchin’ the back of my head a bit.”

Mem could only stare at him. The demon, whoever he was, clearly didn't recognize her. He continued to prattle on about his singular guard duty experience.

“After you’ll probably feel like rubbish for a bit, but recover ain’t too bad. Not like it was for those in the beginnin’. Before they knew how bad it’d be.” He frowned. “One of ‘em’s gone now, too. One less to watch over. Though I think they’re still lookin’ for it topside. Anyway, could be worse. You could be giving this bleeding presentation to the whole department. Kinda makes you miss the apocalypse, eh?”

The demon grinned at her stupidly and Mem began to relax a little. He wasn’t a very smart demon, but it was clear that he was trying to make her feel better. She couldn’t sense the usual anger, hatred, or fear that so many of the others radiated when they saw her. Mem wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling, the emotions too new to have proper names in her head. Frustration and concern were there, but it didn’t feel directed at her. At any rate, he didn’t seem interested in harming her. And, if it came to it, she doubted the demon would put up much of a fight. She couldn’t sense much power coming from him.

“What department are you in? Ya know, normally?” he asked.

Mem stiffened. She didn’t know enough about Hell to reasonably fake this, but she couldn’t just shrug her way through this. Mem stood with her hands behind her back and allowed her claws to grow out slightly in preparation. “I’m in –“

The elevator came to a shaky stop and dinged.

“Oh, this’s me then.” He took a glance at his papers and lowered his hands with a sigh. “Good luck then, yeah?”

He gave Mem an awkward pat on the shoulder and walked out of the elevator, his shoulders slumped as he went back to reading the crumpled papers. Mem’s eyes darted from side to side, scanning the room, but the demons there were too busy standing around a shoddy desk and arguing to notice her. She pressed herself against the elevator wall and held down the button to close the doors. As those buttons never work, not in Hell or anywhere else, she was left waiting until the elevator door closed on its own. Mem felt her heart beating rapidly. She could fight them if she had to, but it was so much easier to just slip by unnoticed. She hadn't liked fighting as much as she thought she would.

The elevator continued downwards and Mem tried to prepare herself. Whatever guards were on duty would need to be dealt with. But then, the demon from the elevator had not recognized her. Perhaps the guards wouldn’t either? She wondered if she could get away with playing the part of a guard. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? 

Mem shifted nervously from foot to foot. The elevator seemed to move in fits and starts, slowly moving downwards, sideways, and down again, but really taking its time. Tuneless music was being piped in through crackling speakers. Mem hummed along, out of time and off key.

The elevator jolted to a stop and something mechanical screeched just before the bell dinged and door slid open. Mem stepped out into the hallway cautiously. She could hear the muffled voices of demons from the room just down the hall. Mem had noticed the room last time as she searched for an exit. It was small, dirty, and cramped and seemed to be used primarily for the nephilim’s guards. Beyond the dingy yellow door was a large set of double doors leading to the chamber that held the concrete prisons. One of the door hinges was still broken.

Mem clenched her fists tightly and readied herself for whatever was to come. She hoped that it would be as simple as just walking in there and incapacitating whoever was guarding her family. She unclenched her hands and walked in what she hoped was a confident manner towards the double doors. She was nearly there when she heard the door behind her open. Mem ignored it, assuming the demon that opened it would either not notice her or not care. She was wrong on both counts.

“Hey, what are you doing?” A voice called out. “Get back here before you get yourself killed!”

Mem turned around slowly to see a thin, gray demon with what looked like puss packets all over her face and a large black spider holding back the silvery strands of her hair. There was anger and fear coming from her, Mem could feel that quite clearly, but it didn’t seem to match with the demon’s words. Mem watched her with narrowed eyes, but did not speak.

“Didn' you get the memo?” the demon said, “You can’t just go down there with a stick or something like ya used to do. They’ve got weapons for us now." The demon leaned forward to whisper, "You know, just in case. In here.” She gave the door a conspiratorial nod.

Mem hesitated for a moment before following the demon into the small room. She did not like the idea of going into a room full of demons, and didn’t know how long she could keep up this charade before they figured out who she was, but it seemed she had little choice at this point. It was easier than she thought to just pretend to be one of them. There were two other demons in the room, but they were deep in conversation and took no notice. The demon ushered Mem to a counter that was covered in a variety of weapons: swords, knives, sporks, sticks, crossbows, and a sock stuffed with a half brick.

“Do you… use these?” Mem asked as she looked at each of them.

“Nah.” The demon said with a wave of her hand. “It wouldn’t really do us any good, would it? If another nephilim breaks out we’re toast. But Beelzebub had a real hard time getting guards in here after the last one escaped. The weapons are meant to make us feel like we have a sporting chance, I guess.” She shrugged. “And if you’re the type, there’s a bunch of armor in the cabinet over here. Not sure how good any of it would do against a nephilim though.There's a spiked helm in there I'm thinking of nicking”

“Right.” Mem nodded. The weapons and armor would be a joke against any of her family. They’d shred it all in seconds. Mem stared at the demon. She could not feel any strong emotion coming from her, but felt the wave of anger well up within herself instead. If they did escape, the demons of Hell would grab every weapon at their disposal. The only reason the demon wasn’t attacking Mem was because she didn’t know who she was. It seemed a reasonable assumption at any rate. Though she had to admit that for all the horror stories she had heard through the years, each demon she came across had actually been kind to her. The elevator demon thought she needed reassurance and tried to give it to her. And this one was making sure Mem was armed. Did they - could they - care about anyone but themselves? 

No. If that were true then they wouldn’t have locked the nephilim up. Surrounded by Hellfire they had no way of crossing, encased in concrete tombs for eternity. It wasn’t kind, it was cruel. Mem tried to put a lid on the anger building at the thought. It served no purpose now; she needed to get going with as little fuss as possible. Still, she wasn’t able to completely ignore it. “Maybe if they weren’t locked up they wouldn’t try killing the demons guarding them.”

“You’re kidding, right?” the grey demon scoffed. “ Young or just stupid? Were you not around when the nephilim were created? They… They killed or destroyed everything they could. Killed their own mothers just being born and then within a few days of that they started attacking anyone who crossed their path. And they didn’t just _ kill_, you know. Have you been topside? Being discorporated up there is painful, but more an inconvenience than anything. Sodding paperwork. But the nephilim completely destroyed souls. Humans, demons, angels… They didn’t care. How do you even destroy a soul, anyway? 'Prolly got something to to with the fact they haven't got one of their own. Imagine not having a _ soul? _” the demon made an expression of distaste.

Mem stopped cold. No _soul?_ Could that be true? She knew what a soul was, the knowledge was written into her very being, but it didn't occur to her that she might not actually have one. Could that be why the demons and angels hated them? Was that the reason the demon and the angel who had created her had abandoned her? Bile rose in her throat. "I suppose you were there?" She spat, not wanting to believe. 

The demon flinched as if she’d been slapped. “Yeah. I – I was actually. For one of them at least. I’ve heard they’re all a bit different. The one I saw… There’s a whole village that didn’t exist after it was done there. I watched it rip a child in half.” The demon shuddered. “Some might not care so much, but you know we aren’t _ really _supposed to kill the humans, not without a Form D, and that's got to be stamped by a Duke or higher. There were allowances made during the Apocalypse, of course, but normally we’re only allowed to tempt them. And a child, well. It isn’t worth losing a piece of your soul, killing them before they're proper corrupted, and little kids aren't proper corruptible even if they're shits. They're still Innocents, even if they're shits. Better to wait until they’re older and you can just tempt them the good old fashioned way.”

Mem wanted to call the demon out on her lies, but found herself unable to do so. The demon was flooding the room with her fear. She might be lying, but she certainly believed what she was saying. Mem was not sure what to say. “I – uh,”

“Don’t worry about it.” The demon frowned, “Just don’t like to think about it is all. We’re all just doing our jobs, right? I’ve been around the nephilim too long. Should have gone up a couple hours ago but ended up gossiping and now my head feels even worse. Watch out for that, they mess with your head in there. Good luck. Steal me that helm if you get the chance?”

Mem nodded and watched the other demon leave, shoulders slumped forward and head down, lost in thought. Whatever had happened all those years ago, it seemed like the wounds had not yet healed. The two demons remaining in the room continued to gossip conspiratorially as Mem surveyed the weapons again. She didn’t need a weapon to protect herself from her family, but it might look odd if she went in with nothing. She hesitated and picked up the crossbow before quietly leaving the room. 

The hallway was empty now, and Mem walked towards the double doors with more confidence than she actually felt. They opened easily, revealing the large cavernous room she had escaped only a short time ago. There was a stout demon sitting on a stool with all the bearing of a toad. He drummed his fingers on his legs, sighed, and checked his watch. Toad picked up a clipboard and pen from the ground next to his stool and stood up. He had a large sword hanging from his belt, and Mem eyed it carefully as she approached him.

“Hey,” She said, clearing her throat.

Toad spun around to look at her and raised an eyebrow. “What’re you doing here? Not that I’m complaining but my shift’s supposed to be another two hours.”

Mem shrugged in what she hoped was a casual, unaffected way. “Got my shift moved up. I - uh - messed up some paperwork. Beelzebub’s not happy.”

“Ah.” He said with a nod. “Must have been_ pretty bad _ if they sent you down here.”

She looked away and refused to answer the unasked question. She could only make up so much without looking suspicious. Better to pretend she didn’t _ want _ to talk about it than for them to find out she couldn’t. 

“Whatever, keep your secrets.” Toad said with an exaggerated eye roll. “You know what the gossip’s like here, I’ll find out eventually.” He tossed the clipboard and pen at Mem. “It’s time for rounds. Good luck.”

Mem had not been expecting the throw and clipboard and pen clattered to the ground. The toad-like demon chuckled and left. Mem ignored the clipboard completely; she had no need of them. She set down the crossbow and walked towards the concrete prisons. She could feel it now, that low pulse of power practically dancing in the air. She closed her eyes and reached out with her thoughts to her family. Each of the boxes was marked with their Letter. There was no _ Aleph _ , he had been destroyed when Mem was still a child, before they'd been moved into the individual pens. Instead the boxes started at _ Beth, Gimmell, Daleth, He_, all the way to the rubble that had once been Mem's entire world.

_ I’m here. I’m home. I need help. _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's a day early, but we just finished writing the epilogue and thought we'd treat ourselves.

The last time Crowley saw the Archangel Gabriel he swore that if he ever saw him again he would punch him in the face. This wasn't physically possible at the moment, with an angel on either side pinning his arms and pushing down on either shoulder, keeping his head low. Crowley still found his hands forming involuntary fists that he had to keep consciously relaxing.

Aziraphale kept his own hands under control. His expressive waves and wiggles were locked down tight in clasped fingers laced behind his back. It was an old stance, feet shoulder width apart, hands behind his back. A soldier 'at ease' although the words had never been particularly apt, not then or now. 

And yet it was different from the last time he was here. Aziraphale had always felt on much less firm footing than he had on Earth, as though he was always about to say or do something wrong or odd and they'd look at him as though he didn't belong. Now he felt like he just didn't _ give a damn _, or at least wouldn't if the stakes weren't so high. Aziraphale was afraid for Crowley, who was still being physically restrained, and for the poor creature they had created, but for the first time he wasn't afraid for himself. 

"We have made a terrible mistake," he said before Gabriel could begin lecturing them. 

Gabriel scoffed. "I'll say. Uriel has told me about your little," and here he looked at Crowley like something stuck to the bottom of his shoe, "_ indescretion _." 

"How was what I did any different than any of the others who fathered a nephilim?"

"You _ knew _ a Demon, Aziraphale,” Gabriel raised his eyebrows, _ “Biblically _." He gestured in a way that indicated the error of this should be self-evident. A few of the other angels made noises of agreement and disgust. 

"And other angels...lay with humans." Aziraphale heard Crowley mutter something behind him that sounded suspiciously like _ at least we're the same stock to begin with. _ And even more worryingly like _ shagging the livestock _ which was very much not helpful and thankfully too low for most of the others to hear or Uriel would have had his head.

"It doesn't matter," Aziraphale continued loudly over the demon, "what matters is that we've been very wrong about Mem. She has a soul, Gabriel. I felt it when I saw her. We've locked her away for five thousand years and we need to make it right." 

Aziraphale saw a flicker of sympathy pass over Gabriel's features. Clearly he thought the same as Uriel. 

"It has killed, Aziraphale." Gabriel said reasonably.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "You've killed. I've killed. Sandalphon wiped out the entirety of Sodom and Gamorrah-"

Gabriel interrupted him. "Are you seriously suggesting that Divine Justice is the same as what _ it _ has done?" 

"What I'm _ suggesting _ is that she acted according to the upbringing _ we _ imposed on her. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with her and every wrong was done _ to _ her." 

Uriel took a half step forward. "If what you're saying is true," they said, "and it's a _ big if, _then why would your offspring be any different? Why did none of ours have God's Grace?" Their voice cracked ever so slightly at the end, but nothing but strength showed in their face. Aziraphale was reminded that others had lost far more than he. 

"Um, I think it was because of me," Crowley said. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at Gabriel, who rolled his eyes then nodded at the angels who held Crowley. The demon shook himself as he was released, but didn't so much as glare at his former captors, too uncomfortably aware that what he was saying could decide their own fate as well as Mem's. "I think that as much as humans are like us, they aren't us."

"You're a demon. Cast down." The heat was back in Uriel's voice. 

"What Uriel is trying to say," Gabriel spoke with confidence, "is that you were fundamentally changed when you were cast out. Hellfire? Holy Water? Either of these things ring a bell?" 

Uriel continued, "You can't feel God's love. And you can't love anything in return."

Crowley shrugged with feigned indifference. "Can't speak for God's love, but you're dead wrong about the other bit. I can. I did. She'd never have been conceived if that wasn't true."

_ I did _ , Aziraphale noted, not _ I do _. Still, he added his voice, knowing what Crowley had been trying to say. "The thing is, we started from the same basic stock."

"Well, yeah," Gabriel said, "but angels and angels can't breed, so?"

Crowley let out a small sound, as though he'd very come to a very large conclusion. "Do you remember when you lot flooded the place? Floating menagerie? Noah and his family spent ages trying to make sure there were two of everything on board. 's why things with the Unicorn didn't work out. But it wasn't two the same, was it? It was opposites."

"Oh," said Aziraphale, understanding, "We're not _ gendered _ like humans are. Not sexually anyway, but what I think Crowley is saying is they we still need our opposite. Our opposite is them! Demons!"

Gabriel scoffed. So..what? We're supposed to mate with Demons?" 

"Well, not right away," Aziraphale answered, "But what if we're... meant to love them? What if we're meant to _ forgive _ them?"

This could change everything. But Aziraphale knew how much angels resisted change, had seen it first hand when trying to prevent the apocalypse. He'd thought he'd be able to convince them then and had been wrong, now he was trying to upend their whole order. "Please," he said hurriedly, knowing their folly for what it was, "all I am asking is that we capture rather than kill. That you look at her and judge if she is as empty as the others. If I am right, then a great wrong has been done to her. We owe her that much at least.” 

"I agree." Uriel said, an unexpected ally. Gabriel looked at them with raised eyebrows. Uriel had never wavered in their devotion to Heaven and their opinion carried weight. "I can't be sure there wasn't anything there when we fought. I'd like to be able to tell you she was empty, sir, but I can't. I think we need to be sure."

Gabriel let out a long breath. "What you're suggesting is.. revolutionary. And you two know I'm not on board with the whole 'ineffable' thing. We had the Great Plan, and now thanks to you two we have no plan. If this was part of God's design surely She'd let us know?"

"And when was the last time God spoke to anyone directly about Her plans?"

It was Crowley who said the unsayable, but then again, it always had been. There was a silence that went beyond sound into a profound and painful stillness. This was the Truth nobody whispered. And it was Aziraphale who answered, working his throat several times to say what they all knew but nobody ever said. 

"About five and a half thousand years. After the nephilim." Each angel felt it as their own private pain. Her grace had never lessened, but the direct lines had been..redirected.

"Maybe," Crowley said, breaking the silence, "She'd thought we'd figured it out already." 

Hope is the kindest, cruelest and very finest kind of motivator. All it ever took was the merest spark to blow up mountains. Aziraphale could see it flare and not quite die in Gabriel's features, destroying his self-assured confidence in one quiet explosion. Around him the other angels moved with a restlessness that meant Aziraphale didn't need to look to them for confirmation. It was Uriel who took over.

"We still need to find the … Mem. We need to find Mem. There's no point rushing into anything until she's secure." 

Gabriel nodded, coming back to himself, spell broken. "Right. Where is it...her..now?"

"Hell." Crowley answered, "She's been using the backroads to get around, buggered if I know how she knew about them. There's something weird going on there, you mark my words."

"We have to be careful. She's been through, well, Hell, and worse, plus she's probably very frightened and confused and still likely to be dangerous. Heaven and Hell may need to work together to bring her in safely." Aziraphale's stance had changed, Crowley noticed. His hands were no longer clasped behind his back and he stood taller. 

Gabriel agreed with a grunt and set about trying to coordinate things, with Aziraphale's confident input. Crowley wasn't sure what he could add, so stayed back, near enough that if Aziraphale needed him he was right there, but the angel looked to have things well in hand. 

"I still can't believe that you, a demon, get to have what you want," Uriel nodded bitterly towards Aziraphale. 

_ And wasn't that a can of worms. _ It had taken him and Aziraphale over five thousand years just to claw back to friendship, each knowing with certainty there could never, ever be anything more. Was there really a chance that things could change? And if there was, would Aziraphale even consider it? Crowley knew better than to get his hopes up. Life had a habit of kicking his optimism in the teeth.

Something if this must have shown on his face, because Uriel gave a bitter laugh."So he might not make an honest demon out of you after all?" they said. Then, unexpectedly, Uriel's tone shifted. "My wife was good. She was sweet and I loved her." 

Crowley remembered Aziraphale's face when he told him that Crowley wasn't going to survive the birth. He forced himself to think of what that had been like for Aziraphale, or what it would have been like if had been Aziraphale whose life was forfeit. Crowley found himself in the uncomfortable position of sympathising with Uriel. 

"That doesn't mean you don't get to love anyone ever again, not if we're right" he said. 

Uriel looked at Crowley with inscrutable eyes. 

_ I’m here. I’m home. I need help. _

The nephilim prison was in a low, dark rectangular hall. The door behind her was the only way in or out. On the far side was the row of concrete boxes. On one wall was an old, rusty telephone for emergencies and in the centre of the room an uncomfortable looking stool. The room was lit by the steady flames of the Hellfire, unnaturally consistent, that separated the concrete boxes from the rest of the room. 

Mem remembered the burn, painful but not deadly. She also remembered a demon, the first face she ever remembered seeing with her actual eyes. She'd killed him first. It felt like a lifetime ago and the memory of it made her strangely uncomfortable.

Mem could feel the semi-dreamlike tug of the Mindroom. She'd passed the centuries in a sort of sleep, dreaming now and then of a room with other monsters like her. Beth created the room and pulled them in, and sometimes Beth could turn the dream into a nightmare depending on his mood. 

It wasn't Beth she heard now, but Lamdeh. Lamdeh would scour the minds of their demon guards, dredging up their memories and it was through them that the nephilim learnt about the world. The majority of the memories were boring, office work, promotions and demotions, but all the entertainment they had. Every now and then Lamdeh would reap someone who had been topside, or some other drama would happen. She felt the needle sting of him. The others, there but silent, were a fuzzy background like white noise. Turned down but present all the same. Mem ached for them all, for the familiarity of their cold company and the subconscious state that was so different, and so much less complicated than the life outside. Could she get them to understand what it was like? Did they remember? 

"I don’t know where to go now. I - There was an angel when I went for the relic. And the Holy Water… My father was there. And a demon." 

_ So you have nothing then? _ The voice asked harshly. Lamdeh had a limited patience and behind him would be the malice of Heth and the blind fury of Waw. _ You will not be able to free us if you cannot get these things _ . Lamdeh was silent for a moment, thinking. _ Did you kill your father? _

"The Holy Water hurt. I didn't understand why, so I watched him. He was able to gather some and it didn’t affect him at all."

_ You should have killed him and taken the Holy Water then _ . When Lamdeh spoke of killing there was a nothingness to it. When the grey demon spoke of it there'd been a complicated series of emotions behind it. Killing meant something to the demon, and nothing at all to Lamdeh. _ You will have to go back. We must have it _

"They found me. Everywhere I've gone they've found me. The angel and...a demon," Mem swallowed. "The demon claimed to be my mother." The words came out in a rush, and behind them a confusing flood of feelings, not all of them hers. The angel and the demon felt fear, but also regret, longing and under it all something deep and warm that she couldn't name.

Lamdeh was silent. When he spoke again it was his voice but Yodeh's gentle words. Mem would take Heth's open malice over Yodeh's false kindness any day. _ You are… like us in many ways. But also different. We could sense that in you long ago, when you were first put into the box. That the Holy Water burns you is not… unsurprising. Holy Water does burn demons. We had hoped that your angelic father would have given you the ability to withstand it, as your demonic father gave you the ability to withstand the Hellfire flames. _

Mem stood rooted to the spot. She had hoped, well, she wasn’t quite sure what she had hoped for. That they would have another reason for it. That the nephilim would reassure Mem of her place and purpose. Questions swirled in Mem’s mind freely, and she had trouble focusing on one long enough to ask it. 

_ You did not need to know _ . Lamdeh said simply. _ Focus now. Your mother and father are immaterial. _

It mattered. Who she was and where she came from mattered to her, though she wouldn’t have been able to articulate why. It simply was. A fact of life in all creatures: the pure desire to know oneself. 

"You kept this from me? All of these -"

She didn't finish. Behind her the door to the long room flew open.

The gray demon with the spider burst into the room, wearing a spiked helm and pointing a short sabre at Mem.

_ Kill it _ Lamdeh demanded.

"Figured you'd still be here." Behind the demon Toad-face and two others bundled into the room, all with various arms and armour. 

The sabre pointed at Mem swung from her to the concrete box that used to contain her. Mem tensed, ready to spring.

"The bleeding nephilim is back in Hell somewhere," the grey demon said, "You're lucky I told you to bring a weapon if the bloody thing comes down here. I mean, we're sort of hoping this is the last place it'd be."

"Unless it gets homesick" Toad added. 

The grey demon lowered the sabre. Her spider was resting on one cheek. "If we're lucky we can just hunker down here until the creature gets caught. Wossure name, anyway?"

Mem froze. She could hardly tell them her name was Mem, especially as they were meant to be hunting her. "Uh.."

_ KILL THEM _Lamdeh roared, making her wince. 

The grey demon flinched as well, feeling the pain of his voice even if she didn't hear it. She shook it off then said to Mem, "You changing it or something? 's why I stick with Jorōgumo. Bit old-fashioned, but at least I've never forgotten it."

"I reckon this place is as good as any, defense wise," said Toad, looking at the sole door, " Pretty much perfect if it wasn't for.." he gestured towards the concrete boxes. 

They were afraid. Mem could sense it rolling off them in waves. But there was also an unexpected feeling of camaraderie. They thought she was one of them.

_ But you're not. Kill them! _ She could, and easily but with Hell already on the lookout for her the risk of them raising the alarm was too high. _ Better to wait _, she told herself. 

"How do we even know what this nephilim looks like?" grumbled one of the other demons. It was tall, stick thin with large eyes and a long nose like an overgrown mosquito.

"I heard it has scales," said Toad.

The mosquito demon whined. "Not really a useful description, scales. I mean, half the demons I know have scales. Dagon's got scales. She's got scales," he said, pointing to Mem, "so that's exactly bugger all use, scales."

"I reckon," said Jorōgumo, "We'll just have to keep an eye out for someone killing everybody. That's what nephilim do. So you see someone killing everybody, you just run the other way." 

Mem felt a wave of nausea. Her vision blurred and the long room became overlaid with an image of the Mindroom. The Hellfire was meant Beth wasn't able to pull her in entirely, just a shadow, but that shadow was filled with nephilim and they were getting angry.

For the first time in Creation, a War Choir was entering Hell.

There were only forty-two of them, but all were armed. The demons stood on either side of the foyer and watched as the Choir marched past. They stood on balconies and peered out of offices, faces grim under the tube lighting which sapped the pallor from angel and demon alike, making them look more kin than not. _ This is not an invasion _ they had been told via the loudspeaker, but it was hard to believe when the angels' armour gleamed. 

There was not even a murmur of dissent amongst the demons, just cold unwelcoming silence. 

Crowley felt their eyes on him. Here he was, not only walking with the enemy, but bringing them in through the front door. The eyes of every demon in the room screamed _ traitor _ at him. He hadn't been here for Aziraphale's Holy Water bath. He'd seen the effect it had on the demons in Purgatory but hadn't really appreciated how much they feared him. How much they hated him. For the first time since the trials, Crowley was face to face with the knowledge that he no longer had any side but his own. 

And Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale walked slightly ahead, flanked by Michael and Uriel, the former having made the arrangements for their passage. Officially, no angel had ever visited Hell before, but Michael's unofficial work had paved the way for this joint venture. Aziraphale was still trying to get his head around what was happening. 

They were in Hell, not to kill his daughter, but to rescue her. To offer her safe passage and a life that they'd denied her. Aziraphale had to remind himself that there were no guarantees here. Mem might not take the offer and the entire venture might very well end in violence and bloodshed. But for the first time in over five thousand years, Aziraphale allowed himself to hope. 

And beyond that there was a whole new world. Because angels were here in Hell. Their willingness to give Mem a chance meant that they were considering the other possibilities that he and Crowley had put forward, that Heaven and Hell may eventually reunite. That what he and Crowley had done in making Mem wasn't a mistake, but something that would pave the way for all of them. It was more than a little overwhelming.

Aziraphale cast a glance at Crowley over his left shoulder. The other, more personal possibilities were also there. They had been through so much together and _ finally _ after everything there was a chance for the unimaginable. 

"We need to meet with Lord Dagon. That's the demon with the fish scales." Michael told Aziraphale and Uriel as she guided them around a turn. 

"I remember," Aziraphale said absently, trying to get his bearings in the dim labyrinth, "from the trial." The last time he had been there he was being dragged by two demons, and he hadn't had an opportunity to understand the layout of the place. 

Aziraphale missed the misstep, and Michael's quiet sharp intake of breath. Dagon was walking towards them. 

"Welcome to Hell," Dagon said magnanimously, spreading her hands to take in the damp walls and foetid atmosphere. 

Brrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnngggg

The rusty phone on the far side of the room began to ring with an insistent, tinny sound that ate at the eardrum. 

Brrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnngggg

Everyone froze. 

Toad began slowly moving towards it. Jorōgumo elbowed him out of the way and picked up the phone.

“What?” she barked. Jorōgumo's spider crawled to the top of her head and sat there, shaking. “I understand. Yes.”

Jorōgumo slammed the receiver down and turned to look at them. “Good thing we’ve got weapons. Might be needin’ ‘em.”

The little colour she had drained from her face. Whatever she had heard, it was bad.

Toad instinctively felt for the large sword still hanging on his belt. “What’s goin on?”

"Angels," Jorōgumo answered, "in Hell."

"_Invasion _?" 

Jorōgumo shook her head. "Something to do with this lot I’d imagine."

Mem felt a bit like she was underwater. She could hear Jorōgumo and Toad, but the layer of Mindroom fell over it and seemed to muffle everything. The nephilim were becoming increasingly angry, both at the situation itself and her current state of inaction.

_ Kill them and get out of here. NOW. Before the angels show up. _

“Damn, but I really hate those holier than thou twats. Bit too heavy handed with the smiting for my tastes. Maybe we should go. No reason for us to be here really, is there?” Toad said, shifting from foot to foot. “Isn’t like they’re going to let the nephilim go. I’m sure it’d be fine.” the two lesser demons nodded in assent.

Jorōgumo scoffed. “Oh yeah, I’m sure that’ll go over well with Beelzebub. Crazy nephilim on the loose and an invasion of angels and we just, what, leave? Nah, we’d be as good as dead.”

Mem squeezed her eyes shut and held the sides of her head with her hands. Listening to the demons panic and argue with each other was bad enough. Listening to them while hearing the screams from the Mindroom and feeling the rush of emotions from all of them was downright overwhelming and painful. She tried to block it out, but Beth was too strong; Mem couldn’t pull away.

_ Child_ _you must go. Kill the demons and leave before the angels come and destroy you. Retrieve the relic and Holy Water so that we can be free. So that we can be a family again. _Yodeh’s kind words could not hide the cold undercurrent he projected.

Mem knew that she had to get out of there before someone discovered her. The odds were not in her favor as it stood – Hell knowing she was there and searching for her, Heaven joining in as well – but even if she did make a run for it now it was unlikely she would avoid running into either group. Her body tensed. There was only one way in and out of the room. She was trapped.

“Hey, uh…” Jorōgumo's voice was closer. Mem had not heard the demon’s footsteps, but when she opened her eyes she was staring at the grey demon, now only an arm’s length away. “You ok? This really is your first big assignment, isn’t it? S’alright. It’s a lot to take in but we’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Toad’s eyes bulged out slightly. He would be a terrible poker player. “Wha she said. The angels aren’t here for us, yeah? They’s after their rogue monster baby. We just keep ‘em here. So’s they can’t hurt anyone. I mean, we did lose one, but it was just the one so – “

“Not helping!” Jorōgumo turned to glare at Toad. Toad stopped talking, huffed and crossed his arms.

Mem watched them both as if trying to piece together a single puzzle from the mangled remains of pieces that were lost under a couch for Someone knows how long and definitely didn’t go together. The demons almost seemed…concerned. For her. They were still overflowing with fear, but underneath that was a small measure of concern. Mem might have focused on the warmth of that feeling, clung to it for a bit and examined it until it shared secrets she did not understand, but the Nephilim raged in her head.

“Could we – could we lock the door?” Mem asked them. “Or bar it somehow? Keep the angels out?”

They all looked back at the door, and the mosquito demon opened and closed it. “No, I don’t think that would work,” he said, “It swings out the other way. And there’s no locks on it. ‘Sides Beelzebub prolly wouldn’t like that so much. I’m sure they’ll send reinforcements down here soon.”

Mem frowned. That wasn’t as reassuring as the demon thought it was.

_ Kill them and go, you foolish child. We raised you. We took care of you. You owe us! _

Heth’s anger was genuinely frightening and so real in the Mindroom that Mem began to visibly tremble. She could not disobey them. Heth’s fury, boosted by Waw, could… would…consume them all if left unchecked. Still she hesitated. The thought of killing these demons made Mem’s stomach sink. Jorōgumo had been almost kind. What could be gained by killing her? Mem longed, not for the first time, for the safety and ease of her home. Before her escape, before all of this new knowledge. Where things were easier. Simpler. Where no one was mad at her, or screaming at her, or chasing her everywhere she went.

Mem opened her mouth to ask another question but froze, words caught in her throat as the doors opened.

Michael took the bulk of the Choir to begin a coordinated search of Hell, leaving Aziraphale and Crowley with a handful of angels to head down to where the rest of the nephilim were held. 

Michael was testy, but ultimately didn't put up much resistance to them going. "I'm not risking too many angels on a wild goose chase, not with all of Hell to search. No more than four, total, not including the demon."

Crowley had just smirked at her, saying, "The demon goes where he pleases. It's my turf after all." 

"Not anymore," Dagon reminded him.

Uriel volunteered to go with them, as did a pair of angels, Nuriel and Lailah, that Aziraphale didn't know well. Crowley had led the way to one of the service elevators, ignoring the stares of the demons as he passed them. Swagger and bravado had got him this far in life, and damned if they couldn't at least get him to the bloody elevator. Inside, however, he was a hive of bees, a downed electrical cable and a high powered floodlight all at once. He was going to see _ her_. And, somehow, they were going to make this work. 

The elevator was always the same size outside, but had been demonically configured to change its interior to what was needed at the time, minus about half a person. So there was an uncomfortable shuffle as all five of them tried to fit in, especially for the angels who were used to much more in the way of personal space. Crowley found himself pressed behind Aziraphale, which wasn't altogether uncomfortable. 

"You really think she's going to be there?" Crowley asked him. 

Aziraphale nodded. "I can't explain why, but I think seeing us might have had some effect on her. She'll either be there or she won't, I just hope we're the ones to find her."

"We need to make things right, Aziraphale." Crowley said. 

"If we ever can. But we need to try. And we need to let the others see she has a soul."

To Crowley's left the large angel with the copper skin snorted. Nuriel, or something. As far as Crowley was concerned he could keep his beaky nose out of it and would have said so if he hadn't been so aware they needed these angels on their side. 

The elevator gave a sideways lurch, jarring everyone off balance. Crowley wrapped an arm around Aziraphale on instinct and could feel the jolt of fear that passed through his angel's body. Crowley let go.

"It's not like they don't all know already," his traitor mouth grumbled. _ Stupid_. He knew not to push things with Aziraphale. 

"What you did shames us all," Nuriel said with a voice like thunder. _ This one's no friend. _ Crowley could easily imagine him angry. 

"What we _ did_," Aziraphale spoke up, "may be what saves us all. The only shame I feel is how we treated our daughter."

The little angel, the slight one who was night dark everywhere but her green eyes and gold decoration asked, "Is it true then? You think we might be able to have children? Ones we can keep?" 

"Don't get your hopes up, Lailah," Uriel warned, "there's no guarantee this one is any different from the rest of them. That's what we're here to find out." 

She felt them before she saw them. Or rather, she felt the emotions pouring from them. Fear, trepidation, and something unfamiliar but warm and scorchingly bright. Mem watched her mother and father walk through the door, their eyes lighting up at the sight of her, and the warmth emanating from them increased. It was blinding, and for a moment eclipsed the painful pull of the nephilim.

Jorōgumo immediately lifted her weapon at Aziraphale and Crowley. Toad fumbled with his sword, dropped it, hastily picked it up and attempted to look fierce. Aziraphale frowned at the demons standing between him and Mem. “Excuse me, but we –“

“Really, angel?” Crowley’s eyebrow rose above his sunglasses. “Watch and learn.” He turned towards the demons, his eyes gleaming. “We don’t have time for this. Get out of the way. _ Now _.”

Jorōgumo and Toad looked at each other, then back to Crowley. “Who the fuck are you?” Jorōgumo sneered, “And why’re you with... shitloads of angels?" The other three angels had followed in behind Aziraphale and Crowley. Hardly a shitload in his estimation.

"We ain’t movin," the demon continued "We’re guardin’ this proper like Beelzebub wants.”

“Really?” Crowley's eyes were fixed on Mem. “Guarding it? From who exactly?”

Jorōgumo hesitated. “W-well from the nephilim that escaped. And from them gettin’ out. Same ’s always. What’s it to you?”

“Well, I just think – and don’t mind me I’m just spitballing here, but I just think that if you’re guarding the nephilim from the one that got out you’re doing a really bad job of it. Forget about it. Just go, we’ve got this.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale held a hand to his chest. “I can feel it. Her soul.” His smile was genuine, but did not quite reach his eyes. He looked at Mem and tried to maintain his composure, but he could not completely banish the tears from his eyes. “My dear, I am so sorry. We didn’t know. Please, we don't mean you any harm.”

Jorōgumo, Toad and the other two turned to look at Mem, unsure. But Mem was not looking at them, or anyone for that matter. She squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, as if the harder she squeezed the more likely the pain would stop. Beth was still trying to drag her back into the Mindroom, and Mem's vision swam with the overlap of the room and her actual surroundings. The other nephilim crowded furious outside of the corners of her vision, and Lamdeh's voice was piercing her brain.

_ The angel and demon. Now, kill them NOW before more come. _

Mem hesitated. The angel had hurt her with the Holy Water, and she would have killed him then, but the waves of emotion pouring off him made it hard to think. Regret, bitter and acrid and orange, sorrow and pain but under all of that, like a great ocean was something else. Something that threatened to pull her under. The thought made her stomach do an uncomfortable flop. If she killed him…killed her parents…how would she ever find out who she was?

“No!” Mem yelled, clutching her head.

Crowley and Aziraphale quickly crossed the room, completely ignoring the other demons who were likewise more concerned with Mem’s random outburst.

_ Kill them all free us. This is what you were meant to do. Do it now! _

Beth made another push fuelled by the anger and desperation of the other nephilim. Grasping hands made of shadow tearing her from one reality to another. Then a light, white and hot, forcing them back. 

Crowley stepped closer to Mem and slowly, haltingly, reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. For a moment it seemed as if she might allow it, but then Mem was screaming again as she crumpled to the floor on her knees. “Don’t touch me!”

Where the feeling from the angel was deep and boundless and cool, the demon's emotion was hot and white and fierce.

Lamdeh flooded her mind again with harsh words and behind it Heth’s anger was strong. It called to her, commanded her, was trying to force her hand. The other Nephilim added their voices to the twisted cacophony inside Mem’s head.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, “I don’t think she realizes we are here.” He turned to Jorōgumo and Toad. "Do you know what's happening to her?”

Jorōgumo scoffed. “We ain’t done nothing.”

Toad nodded furiously. “She was fine ‘til you showed up. Mostly.”

Crowley growled. “Mostly?”

“Well she was a little, ya know, off. Figured it was being near the nephilim. Happens to all of us. They get in your head, ya know? Can’t stay down here long. But we didn’t do nothing, I swear!”

Crowley turned to Aziraphale. “I don't understand what's wrong, Aziraphale." He was beginning to panic, his eyes darting from side to side as if hoping to find an escape. Crowley ran a hand through his hair and blessed under his breath.

Mem screamed. She had Beth fighting for control of her eyes and Lamdeh needling at her mind. The others were pouring their rage through those links. And outside of the Mindroom she was being drowned in an ocean and blinded by the light of love that tempted and terrified her in equal measure.

"Crowley? Can you come up with something?" Aziraphale asked.

“What?” Crowley snapped his fangs showing through his open mouth. “I don’t think thisss is all on me.”

"I mean like you did with Adam?" Aziraphale explained, "Can you take her somewhere out of time?"

"It's not exactly easy!" But he would try. He did it for the end of the world, and that was just the world. This was _ her. _

Crowley reached deep within the underground to the source of all demonic power and pulled. He could feel it, rushing up through the dark matter of the universe just like before. 

And then, from the screaming girl on the floor, a rush of power flowed in and clashed violently with his, setting the world to white.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've had a few questions about gender ect and I hope this resolves some of them, or at least throws up some exciting possibilities. As always, please let us know in the comments if you've made it this far, hit kudos if you haven't so far and bring a friend!


	7. Chapter 7

For a moment there was nothing but blinding white light. Then, quickly, a feeling of being pushed down and pushed out. Crowley groaned under the pressure and fought to remain, drawing all of his power into creating that safe space, frozen in time, that he had whisked Aziraphale and Adam away to not so long ago. Crowley heard Aziraphale gasp behind him, and he reached out blindly for the angel’s hand. Aziraphale grasped the offered hand tightly, knuckles white. The blinding whiteness seemed to have ebbed slightly, and their eyes began to adjust. Aziraphale and Crowley could see Mem, still crouched on the floor within this place. But she was not alone.

There were creatures with her, humanoid but twisted, bipedal but some with extra arms. They were deformed, grotesque, and warped in their hatred. Aziraphale felt bile rise in his throat and he forced it down. Dead eyes stared at them. Soulless, but full of hate and fury. Crowley tried to ignore the nephilim and focus on Mem, on trying to maintain this place for her and push out the others. It was no good – something was wrong. They should not be there. One of the nephilim reached out for Mem and roared in anger when their hands went right through her.

“Get away from her!” Aziraphale took a step forward, one hand still holding Crowley’s and the other firmly lifting a now flaming sword.

“They can’t… touch her.” Crowley forced out through gritted teeth. It was taking so much of his power to fight to stay. “I think they pulled… at her… like I did. It’s too much. Too much pulling all at once. This isn’t just us or them. It’s both, and she’s caught in the middle.”

“What can we do?” Aziraphale’s blue eyes locked onto Mem.

“I don’t think there’s anything we _ can _ do, angel.” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand "It's taking everything I have to hold us here. Something's drawing power."

Mem got up slowly, her hands pressed flat against the ground in front of her as she pushed from her kneeling position. The air radiated and crackled with power, though Crowley could not be sure how much of it was from Mem and how much came from the nephilim who howled around her. He could not hear what they were saying, not in words, but the flood of anger and malice was clear. 

Mem’s breath hitched in her throat as she finally pulled herself to standing. She stumbled and held to the in-between that had been created, fighting the pull from both sides. The nephilim continued to rage, and she could hear the evil, spiteful things they were spewing.

_ You were brought forth to release us. Obey!_ _They gave you to us! They gave you to us, because they didn't want you. _

Sweat glistened on her brow. It was too much. Too much brightness, too much darkness. Feelings and yelling and pain radiating in every direction until she was no longer sure which was way up or who she was. She wished that they would, all of them, just leave her alone. Alone to think and process and deal with everything that had happened without someone messing about in her head. 

_ We did not spend five thousand years acting as your family to just to be ignored. Obey us, now. _Lamdeh’s fury was palpable and seemed endless. 

_ Mem_. Yodeh’s gentle, if cold, words reached for her. _ Do as we say and we will welcome you with open arms. You will be with us in the new order of things. Above all of the… trash. _

Mem looked from the dark, vicious hate emanating from the nephilim to the white hot emotion of her birth parents. It was too much at once, too many feelings and decisions. She needed time.

"Stop!” She snarled. She was having difficulty managing her own emotions in the confusion and it was it felt like it was threatening to tear her apart. “Go away. Just go away!”

"Crowley! The sword!" Aziraphale's sword glowed, and the flames surged towards Mem. "I don't know how, but I think she's drawing on celestial power." 

Crowley barely heard him. The whites of his eyes were gone under a blaze of yellow. Power from below wasn't just flowing into him, but _ through _ him. It was like trying to control a river with his bare hands. 

Beth and Lamdeh opened the conduit between them and Mem as far as it would go, fuelled by the rage and power of the other nephilim. 

Mem felt power surge up within her from all sources, blown open by the opposing forces that vied for control, unchecked and unbalanced. It poured forth, without her permission or understanding. The skin between her scales glowed hot and white.

There was a great scream, like feedback through a speaker. Crowley screamed with it.

Like a capacitor discharging, power surged back through the link the nephilim had forced on Mem, feeding back into the mindroom.

Their howls of pain were so loud Mem clasped her hands to her ears and shut her eyes, but Crowley and Aziraphale stood witness as the nephilim slowly burned away, their twisted forms turning to ash and sludge amount the twists vines of power. 

And then a silence so deafening it rung in their ears. Crowley, on his knees, kept hold of the last tendrils, enough to hold this space together but it would not be long.

Mem lowered her hands and looked at the destruction she had wrought. She stepped to where Lamdeh had been and slowly reached out a trembling hand before quickly pulling back. This was not what she wanted. It was not what she meant to have done. Eyes wide in horror she turned towards Aziraphale and Crowley, the bright emotions still painfully intense and raw. 

“We’re not here to hurt you. We want to help.” Crowley rasped. 

Aziraphale’s sword had gone out when the nephilim were destroyed, and it fell to the ground with a clang . 

"I guess I am a monster after all." Mem stood before the ruins of the mindroom, eyes glazed. 

Aziraphale stepped towards her. “Mem… I’m so sorry, my dear. We would never have - if we knew that you - you aren’t like them.”

“You put me in a box. Left me with _ them_. You gave me to them.”

“Yes, we did.” Aziraphale nodded. “We thought there was no other way to… We wanted you but…” The words caught in his throat. 

“I carried you,” Crowley began, his voice low, “Carried you for months and dreamed of who you would be. When the nephilim were born we thought - we all thought - you would be like them.”

“So you tossed me in a box before finding out?” Her words were sharp and cut Aziraphale and Crowley deeply. 

“You were so wanted, love. I would sometimes pretend that you were going to be a normal child, that I would be able to keep you. I even named you.” If Crowley had the ability to cry, tears would have streaked his face at the painful memories of those quiet months. Aziraphale placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

"Aren't you afraid of me? I did this. I.." she looked at them, eyes flicking between the two of them like a flame. "You're enemies. I am the worst of Heaven and Hell. Is that what you saw?"

"No." Crowley shook his head and wished he had more of himself to give to her. Because they _ had _ thought that. But now... "You are the best of us. Don't you know what you are?"

Mem trembled.

Aziraphale felt his eyes begin to well. "You are hope," he said, "You are hope that Heaven and Hell can reunite and move forward. You were made from _ love. _All the love there is, from platonic love, romantic -"

"Bit of lust, not gonna lie," Crowley added, despite the momentary sharp squeeze on his shoulder and the cell deep pain of trying to hold the space, "and... forgiveness. You were made from the best of ourselves."

Love. And hope. Mem felt the tug of it, wanting to throw herself in and drown in that ocean. She wanted to be _ wanted _ by these people who gave her away. But it was too much. And bringing Heaven and Hell together was too much responsibility. She felt...raw.

“I want to be left alone. That’s all I want.” Mem closed her eyes and breathed deeply. It seemed unlikely, after everything, that she would be left alone ever again. The emotion she was only beginning to put a name to was felt so deeply by Aziraphale and Crowley that it frightened her. 

“Come back with us, Mem. Please.”

“No.” she said with a sense of finality, “You two go. I’ll stay here.” It would be lonely, but safe, providing the quiet Mem craved while she sorted through all that had happened.

Crowley shook his head. “I don’t think you can, though.” Aziraphale turned sharply to look at him but Crowley continued, not allowing interruption. “The nephilim are gone. Whatever they did, their power is gone with them. I can’t keep this for much longer. Do you have the power to keep yourself here? After all that?” He gestured towards the ashy remains on the ground. “I don’t know that you have a choice.”

Mem laughed softly but it was hollow and humorless. “No choice?” She looked at them sadly, “That’s a good description of my entire life so far. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“It’ll be alright,” Aziraphale promised, his voice gaining strength and resolve. “I promise. We will make sure no one attacks you. And, uh, please don’t attack anyone else.”

Mem could only nod. It did not matter if she agreed or not, Crowley was right. She couldn’t maintain this place without them. For a moment she wondered what would happen if she refused. If they left, would it all collapse? Would she blink out of existence along with it? She bit her lip. No. She had no death wish. 

She walked over towards them slowly, seeing but blatantly ignoring their outstretched hands. Aziraphale gave a small nod and withdrew his, but Crowley held on for a moment longer, his eyes burning with the desire to hold his child. To feel the realness of her and offer a protection denied for far too long. Eventually he dropped his hand as well. The world returned with a loud snap. Crowley collapsed, feeling the damp, musty concrete against his skin. Hell had never felt so much like home before.

They all felt the immediate void created when the nephilim were destroyed. The niggling scraping at the back of their minds, a feeling that one only really notices most keenly when it stops, had gone missing. The lack of fury and anger in the air left the entire room feeling somewhat empty and hollow, the way a room might feel if you took half of the furniture out.

"What the bleeding heck was that?" Jorōgumo broke the heavy silence. 

As Aziraphale helped him to his feet, Crowley could see the demons and angels staring at them. What they had felt or saw Crowley didn't know, but he could really do with a lie down. But first..

"Mem?" he reached for her. It hurt, but he wasn't surprised when she flinched away.

"Don't," she said, "I'm not ready." 

Crowley nodded. He knew how to wait, it wasn't the first time he'd been told off for going too fast. 

Uriel took a step towards them, stopping when Mem shrank back.

"It's ok," Uriel said, "nobody's going to hurt you."

The door swung open. A dozen heavily armed angels and demons swarmed the room, and it was clear that there were many more outside

"STOP! Step away from the creature!"

"Michael? It's alright, Mem isn't going to hurt anyone," Aziraphale said. He was still holding Crowley up, and loathe to let him go as the demon was likely to drop like a sack of potatoes. 

Michael and Dagon had made their way to the front. Something was clearly wrong. Michael's face was a stone mask. "Forgive me for not trusting the word of a known liar. Hand over the creature." 

"Or wot?" Jorōgumo and the other demons stood a little straighter and edged towards Mem, eyes fixed on the new arrivals 

"Or you'll be strung up by your nadgers in a dungeon, that's wot!" Dagon shouted. The demons shrunk back but did not stand down completely.

Uriel stepped forward. "This is madness! Michael, our job was to come down here and see if their nephilim had a soul, Gabriel's orders." Uriel took one look back at Mem and nodded sharply, "I believe she does."

"And I believe Gabriel isn't aware of all the facts. Those two," Michael pointed at Aziraphale and Crowley, "have fooled us before. They swapped bodies for their trial, and lied. They've been lying for thousands of years about their… relationship. And yet we're meant to trust them that this is all part of some great plan to reunite Heaven and Hell, that only they have figured out? No, this is all to justify their perversion."

"But what if they're right?" Lailah asked. The slight angel spoke quietly but clearly. "I can't explain it Michael, but I wish you could have seen…"

"Pure fantasy, Lailah. Fantasy and perversion." Michael wasn't unkind. It was obvious she could see the temptation of what Aziraphale and Crowley were offering. But that's what it was, pure temptation. That's what demons _ did_. As much as Michael may have come to like _ individual _ demons, she made sure to never forget what they were.

"Didn't feel like no perversion to me. And I know all about perversions, you know," said the Toad-faced demon, "It felt like love. Like real, _ actual _ love." He added a belated "sir" to then end, casting a fearful glance at Dagon. 

_ Felt? _ Crowley wondered. _ What did he mean 'felt'? _

"I agree," said Nuriel, moving his imposing body between Michael's Choir and Mem, Aziraphale and Crowley, "I know what I saw and I know what I felt. I believe them."

Crowley hadn't liked the big angel, and had the distinct impression that angel didn't like him either, and he'd been very clear that he didn't approve of Crowley and Aziraphale in the elevator down. Something fundamental had changed in this room when Crowley and Aziraphale had gone after Mem.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Crowley said, "You _ saw _ all that? _ Felt _ it? How?"

"Buggered if we know," Jorōgumo said, "We're all just standing around here one minute, next thing the room goes all weird, like two rooms or something. We could see you, like being underwater, but I don't reckon you could see us. Saw all the …" Jorōgumo mimed and explosion ".. and all the rest." 

"And we _ felt it. _ How much you loved her. How much you love each other." Uriel turned back to Michael. "This is folly, Michael. If you don't trust them, trust me. I know what I saw."

"Don't take this personally, Uriel, but I believe your judgement is compromised when it comes to the nephilim. You're too personally involved."

"And what of my judgement?" Nuriel folded his arms across his broad chest. Lailah stepped to his side. 

"I believe them," she said, "I.. understand you think that's just me wanting to believe. I do, but it's more than that. When we were in that space it was like everything had come together. There was power there from above and below, and it _ sang _together. I think that's what killed the nephilim."

There was an explosion of noise from the new angels and demons, with Dagon's voice cutting through the rest.

"Wait! You're telling me the Nephilim are dead? That _ that _ thing killed them?"

Michael's mouth was open, horrified. "If that's so, then she is too dangerous to live. God have mercy on us."

Crowley groaned. He was spent and didn't have so much as a tyre iron on him. He stood up straighter, still holding Aziraphale for support. Aziraphale's sword lit up.

The demons that had already been in the room looked at each other. Jorōgumo nodded, and they stood closer to Mem, facing down their own leaders. Crowley hadn't expected that at all. Nuriel and Lailah took up their swords as well.

And Uriel, who had fathered a nephilim of their own, who had lost their wife and their child and who offered to do the dirty work so Aziraphale didn't have to. Who had been so utterly disgusted when they learned the truth of Mem's parents. Uriel stood by them. 

There was a stillness in the room. A storm on the edge of breaking.

"Don't," Mem said.

She picked her way through her defenders, who parted before her. Crowley made a move to follow, but Aziraphale held him back. The wrong move now could set the world aflame. 'Give her strength," Aziraphale murmured.

Mem stood in front of Michael and Dagon, in front of the soldiers of Heaven and Hell. Aziraphale closed his eyes. _ All my grace is yours. All my love. _

"Look at me," Mem said, "Am I what they say I am?" 

Dagon took a sharp breath, their hand reaching out for Mem, stopping before making contact and pulling away. "I see what you are. And I'm sorry, but it doesn't change anything."

Michael took a deep breath and closed her eyes on a deep sorrow. "Dagon's right. You are the child of a demon and an angel. You have a soul..."

There was a murmur from the demons and angels behind them as the truth filtered through.

"...but ultimately it doesn't change what _ we _ are. When God split us we went in separate directions. We're not going to suddenly be able to co-exist just because of one child."

Crowley spoke.

"We don't have to. But she gives us the _ choice_. And it's a choice each demon and every angel should be able to make for themselves."

"And the thing about choice," Aziraphale added, "is that even knowing there _ is _ a choice changes things. Even if you lock her away, even if you kill her, you can't erase the fact that she existed. Every angel and demon here now knows they have a choice. It's apples all over again, really." 

Dagon let out a long sigh. "You bastards."

Michael swallowed and nodded, her shoulders sagging. There was a susurrus as the angels and demons began to whisper, exploring the tenuous thread of possibility.

"I'm going to go now," Mem said. She wasn't asking permission.

"Where will you go?" Aziraphale asked. Crowley could hear the strain in his voice, could feel it in his own body.

She looked back at them. "I need time. Space. I'll find somewhere."

"When you're ready…?" Crowley couldn't help himself. Hope had always been his cross to bear.

Mem nodded. "When I'm ready."

It was a promise. If it took another six thousand years they would wait for her. They would wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly there folks! Drop a comment, hit kudos and share the link if you've liked the ride so far. We love hearing from you!
> 
> Thank you so much for being with us to this point..but don't be afraid, we've still got a trick or two up our sleeves for 8.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains a discussion on infertility that some may find very upsetting. 

_After…._

The first time they had fallen in love it had been so easy. They'd been innocents, unprepared for the events that would crush them into dust. The second time had been much harder. It had taken centuries of shared trauma, of barely there friendship, of the arrangement. It had been a harder road, and Aziraphale had dragged his steps under the weight of his guilt and his regret, behind Crowley who moved so fast even under the burden of his own grief. 

He had come home still covered in the debris from the bombed out church, and wept. There was nothing to be done for it, it seemed. Something in him had bound itself to something in the demon. Nothing would come of this love, he was strong enough for that, but he doubted he'd ever be free of Crowley now. The years they spent working together to avert the apocalypse had been trying for them both, but slowly a sort of middle ground was reached. Sharing a few bottles of wine was acceptable, provided they sat apart. Aziraphale could count on one hand the number of times they had physically touched one another. An accidental brush of fingers. A clasping of hands. Each brief contact stirred up feelings that he could not, would not, act on. 

Aziraphale watched him sleep. After returning from Hell they'd gone straight to Crowley’s flat, the demon so exhausted from holding reality still using borrowed power that he practically needed to be carried up the stairs. He'd fallen into bed and straight to sleep without a word. 

Aziraphale had miracled the demon into more comfortable sleepwear and sat beside him through the night, resting and thinking.

On the second day Aziraphale returned to the bookshop, eager to return his beloved books, each one an old friend, back to their places. But that evening he locked the front door and returned to Mayfair. Crowley was still asleep. Aziraphale returned again the following day, and the next, spending the nights sitting on the bed beside the sleeping demon and reading. 

On the fourth day Aziraphale called Anathema. Crowley's mobile phone had been ringing for days, and although Aziraphale hadn't the faintest idea of which one of the many buttons actually answered the blasted thing, he had recognised who 'Book Witch' was meant to be. He realised with a start that she must have been worried, and had not heard from them since Barcelona. 

She'd been angry, the kind of angry that comes from worry and dissipated quickly when he explained they were no longer in any danger. Anathema had been surprised by the revelation that Crowley was also Mem's parent, and asked some very personal and _ human _ questions that didn't apply to a demon and an angel, but accepted it all in a way that was perhaps singular to one used to the occult and had survived an apocalypse. 

Anathema offered help, should Mem need it, to integrate into the world. Aziraphale promised to pass it on, but honestly had no idea how to do so. Mem had walked out with a promise, but Aziraphale couldn't help but worry for her and their uncertain future.

He'd spent so much of his life worrying about the past. 

Aziraphale was there when Crowley woke.

"How long?" Crowley asked, bleary-eyed. 

"A little over a week. Not too bad, considering." Aziraphale lowered the book to his lap.

"Have you heard anything from…" 

"No," Aziraphale shook his head. "I don't think we'll hear from her for a while. She needs time." 

Crowley sighed and rolled over onto his back. "I know," he said, "I need to be patient. How are things above and below?" 

Aziraphale closed his book and put it on the side table. "I had wondered if there would be any additional fallout from Michael about our trials, but they have more than enough to worry about now. Uriel tells me we've really set a cat amongst the pigeons. From what I hear, Michael and Dagon remain vehemently opposed to any change and have a significant amount of support. Unfortunately for them, there's a considerable number of demons and angels who are at the very least interested in change. Gabriel and Beelezebub both have their hands full. I hope they will consider some formal meetings despite the opposition. It really is too early to tell." 

Crowley made a non-committal noise. "I think they'll have to do something. People will start taking matters into their own hands if they don't. "

“Well, I’m sure they’ll manage.” Aziraphale frowned. “They’re interested anyway, and that’s the first step. Of course, there’s been a lot of questions; we're the only ones who have done this before." 

Crowley wasn't sure he'd recommend anyone follow the same path that they made. Surely there were easier ways to fall in love. 

And they were. Everyone had seen it, had felt it thanks to whatever had connected Mem with them and the nephilim. There were no declarations needed between them. But then, Crowley had known his own heart for a very long time and had been fairly confident of Aziraphale's. The distance they so carefully kept between them seemed unnecessary now, but the careful practice of millenia was going to be difficult to overcome. Love was so easily expressed during that first, easy relationship of theirs. The love Aziraphale and Crowley felt now, the love all of Heaven and Hell were privy to, was true and strong. But it also came with a mountain of baggage they would have to learn to carry together. 

"Where do we go from here? Us, I mean?" he asked, well aware that he may be told to slow down again. 

The question was so big that it would take a lifetime to answer, a lifetime of being together with whatever that entailed, good or bad. It was a question so small that it only took a few words to answer.

"I'd like to stay." 

Aziraphale turned a page and tried to ignore Crowley’s restless pacing. The demon had been tapping at his phone for what felt like ages. Aziraphale took a deep breath and sighed. It was impossible to read with the constant _ tap tap tap _ of fingers.

“My dear, wouldn’t it be easier to call her?” He asked at last, words pouring from him quicker and sharper than he intended.

“No one really _ calls _ anymore, angel.” Crowley frowned. “Texting is much better. No misunderstanding. It’s all written out.”

“Right. Well, but it takes so much more time…” Aziraphale watched as Crowley continued to type out a message. “How is Anathema? And Newton, of course.”

“Fine.” Crowley replied distractedly as he wandered towards the back room.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at his retreating form but said nothing. He could ask him again later; for now, Aziraphale was happy enough to have relative quiet in which to read. He reached for his white-winged tea cup and took an appreciative sip before setting it down on the end table and settling comfortably in for a good read. Crowley was still pacing about in the back, but footfalls were muffled by plush carpeting and easy for Aziraphale to ignore.

Unfortunately, it was not as easy to ignore the shop door being pushed open, the small bell tinkling above the door frame, or the angel who strode in with quiet purpose.

“Uriel,” Aziraphale said as he quickly set down the book and stood up, hands nervously pulling at his vest. “How – how are you?”

The other angel had been in occasional correspondence over the last two years, giving Aziraphale bits of information on what was happening above. He had a sense that in the chaos left in their wake Uriel had become one of the rallying points for those who wanted change. Still, it wasn't often that Uriel would visit them in person.

They gave Aziraphale a curt nod. “I have no complaints.” Uriel glanced around the shop, their face blank and emotionless. They never looked entirely comfortable here on Earth.

“It’s been a while.” Aziraphale said conversationally, aware that this was unlikely to be a social visit, “What can I do for you?”

“Things are still rather…tense lately,” Uriel began slowly. The last time they'd spoken there were still bans on fraternizing 'until appropriate structures are put in place' that were being protested by those on either side who wanted change. Demons in particular had shown they were rebellious by nature when they thought something important enough. Crowley had positively cackled when he'd heard of the _ petition_.

“However," Uriel continued, "not everyone is hesitant to follow in your footsteps.”

“My footsteps?”

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called out from the back, his voice walked nearer. “Anathema wants to know if we’re free for – “

Crowley stopped speaking as he rounded the last corner of shelves and caught sight of Uriel. “Didn't know we had company.”

“I’ve just arrived to deliver a message,” replied Uriel, “A child has been born to an angel and demon.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s jaw dropped slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Well, that’s… To an… an angel and a demon?”

_ So soon? _It seemed impossible. He and Crowley had been stationed on Earth together for thousands of years. How had another couple managed to meet, fall in love and conceive a child, especially with things how they were above and below? 

Uriel nodded. “Yes. And the child has a soul. The new child is proof that it is possible, that you and Mem weren't an anomaly.”

Aziraphale did not notice the way Crowley stiffened at the news; he himself felt a great wash of relief. Until the first new child was born all of their grand ideas, all of the upheaval they'd caused was theoretical. This proof was profound. 

“Is the child safe?” Aziraphale asked, "And who were the parents?" 

Uriel nodded. "Even those who are Against realise the significance of the child. They wouldn't dare lay a finger on them." Aziraphale sighed in relief.

"The parents are Krsnik and the demon Peklabog."

“Oh, I think I remember Krsnik.” Aziraphale frowned as he tried to pull forth a memory from long ago. “Ah, yes. I think I met them in Japan, back in the 1600s. They Introduced me to sushi.”

“Well it seems as if you two had more in common that you thought,” Crowley muttered.

Apparently theirs had not been the only friendship that had blossomed behind the scenes over the centuries, which had managed to take root in the most hostile of terrains. How many others had there been, living in fear as they had wondering when they'd be caught and punished for their friendships? How many lovers had been too terrified to touch each other in fear they'd create another nephilim? It had never occurred to him that he and Crowley might not be alone.

Aziraphale shot Crowley a fond smile before turning back to Uriel. “I’d like to see them, if that’s alright.”

“I thought you might.” Uriel answered.

“My dear would you like to – “

“No,” Crowley answered quickly, “You know me; I’d rather not take unnecessary trips to Heaven if I can avoid it. Skin’s itchy for days. You go. Uh, send my regards.”

“If you’re sure?” Aziraphale frowned. Of the two of them Crowley had always been the one who gravitated towards children. It was unusual for them to be in the reverse situation. 

In all honesty Aziraphale wasn't certain why he wanted to see the child himself. Proof of concept, obviously, but he felt there was an underlying current. Usually the thought of children made him edgy, to the point that it had impacted the early intimate aspects of his relationship with Crowley. Yet Aziraphale wanted to see this new child, and Crowley did not. 

Aziraphale cast him a sideways look, knowing the demon too well to be fooled, but wise enough to know now wasn't the time to push. 

As he went to fetch his coat from the coat rack, he became aware of a murmured conversation between Crowley and Uriel, which was unusual, as they'd never particularly warmed to each other. He fidgeted with his coat and scarf to give them a few moments of privacy, despite his buzzing curiosity. Crowley would likely tell him later anyway.

Uriel had always been hard to read, but as they stepped out of the bookshop an onto the street Aziraphale thought he could detect a flash of something painful before the other angel shut down their expression. 

"I'm very sorry, I know this must be a difficult time for you." Aziraphale wanted to comfort them, but didn't quite know how. Words did not feel sufficient.

Uriel shrugged. "It's complicated for all the parents of the nephilim. But I truly believe that this is the right path for all of us." Uriel looked at Aziraphale, obviously making a decision of some sort. Aziraphale waited.

"On a more... personal level… I'm not certain I'll try to have another. I'm not ready and I'm not sure I ever will be. But I will fight for anyone else to be able to." 

"I understand." Aziraphale hesitated at the glass doors of the London office that would take them to Heaven. He hadn't even talked about this with Crowley. "I'm relieved, actually, that we've not had another, although I'd rather you not say this to him. I know how much he wants a family."

"But?"

"But... I spent a long time trying not to think about it. It hurt, _ you know _ how much it hurt, and it was easier to avoid the idea of children altogether. Things went so badly the first time, and I'm not sure I'm ready or fit to be a father," Aziraphale said, "Crowley, well, Crowley was always a natural with children. He's raised several, loved them even though he'd lost Mem. I never had it in me to do that, not like he did. He really is the most extraordinary person, Uriel."

Uriel smiled, not widely, but enough to be seen. "He's alright. But you should probably talk to him about this stuff."

"I don't think so. It would hurt him to think I didn't want more children, but I was willing to for his sake. Unfortunately it looks like a moot point. I suspect that because we don't die naturally that we won't actually reproduce easily; we'd be overrun otherwise. At first I worried that every time we ...were together there'd be a chance for a child, but there's been plenty of opportunity and it hasn't happened. No, talking about it would only upset him unnecessarily." 

Uriel looked like they didn't agree, but didn't push the point. Instead they led the way inside and up the escalator. 

The Krsnik that Aziraphale remembered had been a small, pale angel with a shy, rasping laugh who had appeared nervous during the meal they shared. The Krsnik waiting in Heaven met Aziraphale as an old friend, practically beaming as they shook hands. Aziraphale felt their joy and love and couldn't help but return the smile with pleasure. Outside the room were several other angels, guests or perhaps guards. 

"No demons?" Aziraphale asked, curious as to why only angels seemed to be present. 

Krsnik shook their head, "Downstairs has cracked down on demon movement again, apparently on orders from Satan himself. He wasn't happy with Peklabog and me." 

Peklabog and the baby were resting in the room, the heavyset demon cradling the newborn with obvious fondness. Aziraphale hesitated at the doorway. Krsnik he knew, and had the familiarity of both being angels, but he had never so much as laid eyes on Peklabog. 

"He doesn't bite," Krsnik said, although Aziraphale wasn't sure if they were referring to the baby or the demon.

Peklabog grinned at them, his heavy features radiating joy. "Would you like to see baby Nadyezhda?" They'd named the child perfectly.

Aziraphale nodded, not trusting his voice. He moved closer, and Peklabog shifted so he could see the small red face peeking out if the blankets. The child yawned.

"Yours had scales, like your Serpent Crowley. Mine is red, like me," Peklabog said with pride. Pekablog, never for a moment considering that anyone would prefer _ not _to hold the baby, deposited the child in Aziraphale’s arms before a protest could even form on his lips. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the small child, tiny and new and perfect.

It had been over five thousand years since he held a baby. It was self preservation that forced him to keep his distance, pushing the fear and trauma down as far as it would go, the knowledge that it would never happen again a kind of bittersweet relief. After realizing what Mem was and what they had done to her, that relief had morphed into shame and fear. How could Aziraphale ever trust himself with a child again? He kept his distance from even the topic of children, afraid the emotional baggage he carried would overwhelm and destroy him.

But it didn't.

Instead he was swept up by love. Nadyezhda._ Hope. _Everything they had been through had led them to this moment, this tiny miracle. Even if he would never have another of his own he felt entirely blessed to be here now and able to witness the future of his people. Aziraphale wished, suddenly and desperately that Crowley was here to share this with him.

Crowley practically growled as he slammed the Bentley’s door shut and stalked into the bookshop. It was getting late and Aziraphale had not yet returned. Of course the angel would be gone on a day when Crowley so desperately needed a bit of comfort and understanding. 

Well, that was fine. _ Who needs people for comfort? _ He stomped up the stairs to the flat above, searching for whatever was strong and readily accessible. _ Booze can be comforting, too. _Crowley’s hand wrapped around an old bottle of scotch and he smirked as he took it with him and sprawled out comfortably on an armchair. He was halfway through the bottle before he even allowed himself to think about the previous few hours. 

Anathema had just invited them over when Uriel showed up with the _ joyous _ news. The last time an angel appeared to announce a baby it had been Gabriel, and Crowley found himself thankful that bugger had stayed upstairs this time. As upsetting as the news was, and Crowley was self aware enough to admit it had been upsetting, he didn’t have the heart to be mad at Uriel. They were probably one of the few who understood at least a fraction of what Crowley was going through. 

Crowley emptied the rest of the bottle and frowned. He should have grabbed more than one. A few moments later he was back in his seat, several bottles of varying quality on the floor beside him. Aziraphale wouldn’t be pleased, but what did it matter? Aziraphale barely talked to him about what was happening. For Heaven’s sake, _ Uriel _ had been more compassionate and willing to broach the topic than Aziraphale had been in the last two years. Crowley wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps Aziraphale just wasn’t as bothered by it all as he was. Or maybe he didn’t want the same thing. 

Going to Anathema’s without Aziraphale probably hadn’t been the best idea, but she _ had _extended the invitation and really, he had stuff all else to do. Could have gone back to Mayfair and yelled at the plants, but for what? He needed a distraction, not a scapegoat. 

And so Crowley had driven out to Jasmine Cottage. His thankfulness at having a distraction from current events was short-lived. Anathema was disappointed that Aziraphale didn’t come because she wanted to give them the _ good news _. 

Crowley’s stomach turned. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what Anathema wanted to tell them. The witch was practically glowing. It seemed to be the way of things, that others would so easily get what Crowley was fighting to get himself. Or maybe it was just that he noticed it more. _ Like seeing red cars when one thinks of red cars. Or something _. But there seemed to be a lot of babies popping up all of a sudden and Crowley wasn’t sure how much more “good news” he could take before going completely mad.

Still, Crowley was ni...pleasant enough. Aziraphale would have never forgiven him if he’d been rude. And so the demon feigned polite interest even as his heart broke a little more. As soon as he could without being offensive, he made his excuses and left. 

The alcohol began to set in firmly, making itself at home in Crowley’s body and numbing some parts of him while, irritatingly, enhancing others. He dropped an empty bottle to the floor and picked up a new one, opening it immediately. _ Nice thing ‘bout drinking alone is not needing a glass _ Crowley thought. His conscious tutted at him. It sounded a lot like Aziraphale, and so he ignored it completely and drank more out of spite. 

The bookshop was fuzzy, and he couldn’t be sure how much of that was due to the alcohol and how much was due to his eyes watering with tears he could not shed. What if Mem was the only child he would ever have? What if they only got one shot? Crowley felt a pang in his chest. They had ruined so much with Mem. It hurt to think of her, of the way she had walked away from them that day without so much as a backward glance. Not that Crowley blamed her.

He wasn’t sure if they deserved another child, but his whole body ached with the want of one. 

He drained the rest of the bottle and tossed it to the floor. 

It wasn’t fair. 

In the fourteenth century Aziraphale had been asked by the people of a village just outside York to perform an exorcism on a house at the edge of the village. Demonic howls, loud bangs and crashes all hours of the night, no wonder the villagers were scared. The man who lived there was possessed. Or mad. 

Aziraphale had gone to offer aid, though he was unsure if the occupant required spiritual salvation or a more practical kind of help. He'd found Crowley, drunk and grieving.

One of the human children he had taken in had died.

Aziraphale had held him, pinned him with all his strength while the demon raged. 

He knew the sound of Crowley's grief. And from the ground floor of his bookshop he heard it again. _ At least it is in the flat and not the shop. _

The thought was unworthy of him; he pushed it aside and raced up the stairs.

"Crowley? Dear? Is everything alright?" Aziraphale peered around the door carefully, as he recalled the fourteenth century and the value of a shield.

No projectiles came. A look around their living room suggested most things that could be thrown easily had already been. Thankfully most of the valuable artwork was in the other rooms or the hall, but many of his books had been evicted from their case, joining the couch cushions, some bottles and a drunk demon on the floor.

"You know, angel, I love the sound of breaking glass. There's something just... very calming about breaking something" Crowley slurred.

Aziraphale felt a surge of indignation. He'd had such a nice time seeing the baby. He'd wished Crowley had been there and had spent the walk back thinking of how he would share this wonderful feeling with him, only to find the flat in complete disarray! These were _ his _ books everywhere, his favourites, not shop books. 

"What in Heaven had gotten into you, Crowley! This is ... absolutely unacceptable! You had every opportunity to come with me, yet I come home and you're in the middle of some..._ childish tantrum _ for who knows what reason!" Aziraphale glared and waved his arms around the room. "Pick yourself up, and pick _ this _ up." 

He stormed into the kitchenette and braced his hands against the sink. Glared a miracle at the kettle to begin boiling. He would have a nice cup of cocoa, then find out what the hell was going on with Crowley.

"You really don't know, do you?" Crowley drawled, languid frame leaning against the doorway, "_ Who knows what reason? _ Not you, hey, angel? Everything's ticket-boo with you. You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

Aziraphale turned to face him, still irritated but genuinely confused. "What on Earth do you mean?" 

Crowley slithered over, hips first and placed his hand on Aziraphale's crotch. "You _ know _ angel, getting to screw a demon whenever you want without worrying about any inconvenient babies."

Aziraphale battered his hand away, repulsed. _ How _ dare _ he! _"There is absolutely no need to be vulgar." 

Crowley was undeterred. "You can do it, but you can't say it? You don't think I noticed how much more _ relaxed _ you were when it … when you thought we'd only have the one. That we could only have one." 

"Don't be ridiculous, Crowley," Aziraphale snapped. This was uncomfortably close to being true. He _ had _ been nervous about having more children. He _ had _ been relieved when they didn't. He'd said as much to Uriel only hours before. And yet, seeing Crowley in obvious pain wasn't _ getting what he wanted _, far from it. Aziraphale adjusted his tone, relaxed his body and reached out for his dearest friend. "I am genuinely sorry we haven't-"

Crowley shrank back. "The fuck you are, angel. The. Fuck. You. Are." Each word was punctuated by a pointed finger. "You don't want kids. Or you don't want them with me. We could have… all my human babies, we could have raised them together. Or Adam, I was gonna take him from the hospital." Crowley shook his head and muttered, "...too risky."

Aziraphale shook his head. It had been impossible, even if he had been willing. They hadn't even been allowed to be friends then, let alone raise a child together. It was absurd.

"Crowley, I think you need to sober up. I can tell you all about Krsnik and Peklabog's child. It might make you feel better."

Crowley's laugh was bitter and dreadful. "Suuure. Tell me all about Peklabog. And I'll tell you all about Anathema and we can both laugh over how everyone else's body works but mine.

“Anathema?” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What does she have to do with this?”

“Was on the phone with her earlier, ‘member?” Crowley sneered. “She was inviting us over. Apparently her and Newton are expecting. Isn’t that just charming?” There was no mistaking the sarcasm dripping from his words.

“Crowley… Did – you didn’t – “

“I didn’t do anything you need to apologize for if that’s what you’re worried about. Book girl is fine. Her weird witchfinder boyfriend is fine. _ Everyone _ is fine.” Crowley yelled as he turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Aziraphale to follow, cocoa quite forgotten.

“Clearly not everyone is ‘fine’ as you put it.” Aziraphale watched as Crowley wandered around looking at and tossing aside any empty bottles he came across. “Perhaps you’ve had enough to drink?”

Crowley frowned. “Do we have more downstairs?”

Visions of Crowley drunkenly destroying the shop as well danced in Aziraphale’s head. "No we do not!" he snapped, "and I think you should sober up. Obviously you have things to say, and I would have thought we were past the point of needing alcohol to say them."

Crowley paused in his search for more bottles. "Are we? Have we ever been? You know damn well how I feel about kids." He twisted around so his back was against the couch, one knee propped up and expressive arms flailing. “I don't blame you for staying away from me all those years, because I thought it was just…"

This was unfair. He'd 'stayed away' from Crowley to save his life, so that others would never connect the demon to the nephilim. And quite frankly given they'd both still managed to become friends afterwards meant they'd done a rubbish job of staying away from each other.

"Well, we were both so afraid of what we would make. But when we found out, well, it meant we didn’t need to stay away from each other. We didn’t need to worry about having children because our child would be… would be…Perfect.” Crowley finished, eyes glazed. 

Aziraphale swallowed. He hadn't wanted to talk to Crowley about this at all. If having more children was a moot point, he didn't understand why Crowley was poking these wounds. He knew he should comfort the demon, find nice words to make him feel better. That way he didn't have to talk about his own feelings at all. 

Aziraphale settled himself down next to Crowley, not touching, but still close. 

"The first time was so easy," Crowley said, all the fire gone and replaced with misery, "It feels like my body is betraying me. Broken in a way I can’t see. It hurts, Aziraphale. It’s like Falling all over again, having something so precious taken away. What if we only had one chance?"

"That's what I am afraid of too," it wasn't the comforting words Aziraphale meant to say, "I have never had the affinity for children you did, even before, and when I finally had one of my own it all went so terribly wrong. In the beginning I thought the birth would kill you, that _ I _had killed you. And I couldn't even be by your side for those final months. Then we thought she was a monster, worse than the others because of what we are. I lived with the shame of that for a very long time." 

"But she wasn't."

"I know." Aziraphale said, "and I didn't see it before I handed her over. I should have. I'm... I'm not fit to be a parent, Crowley. I see how you are with them, how much you want them, and I see my own failings. I'm the one who is broken, not you." 

Crowley wrapped his long arms around him and buried his face in his hair. "Everything has changed, Aziraphale. Because of us. And if she was the only chance we get, then at least we have that. But it hurts to see everyone else walk down the road we made." 

"You would have been a remarkable parent. You always were with your human children. And, truly, I would give you a hundred if I could. I'm so sorry Crowley. I... would have liked a second chance." Aziraphale returned the hug and they sat like that on the floor for a while.

"What was the new baby like?" Crowley asked, finally.

Aziraphale told him. And they dreamed together of a future that may never happen and a past that did. Lying together on the floor they made a universe, so very like the one they had made five and a half thousand years before. 

This is what it was to know someone. To know their dreams and their pain. To know yourself through their eyes. They had been so innocent the first time, in love, but also ignorant. The ignorance was gone, replaced with knowledge and understanding. It had hurt, but their love was all the stronger for it.

This time there was no golden note from heaven to tear their universe apart. 

In the ten years since the nephilim had been destroyed almost everything had changed. 

Almost.

In a bookshop in Soho an angel and demon talked about where they were going for dinner.

"What time is the reservation for?" Crowley asked. 

"Six. I've resigned myself to being late. I don't think we've been on time for anything in eight years." Aziraphale gave a meaningful look heavenward. 

Crowley laughed. "I could always go and hurry things along? Or you could?" 

"I could," Aziraphale agreed, "but then we wouldn't get this moment alone then, would we?" He slid his arms around his demon, relishing one of the brief moments of peace. Everything lately seemed to be a full pace and full volume and these little moments were so nice. Not that he would have changed it for anything in the world. He counted his blessings and was deeply thankful for the life he had and who he shared it with 

"Such a softie," Crowley teased, making no move to part with him. "I would have thought you'd be sick of me by now. You remember when we'd used to go decades without seeing each other?" 

"Unfathomable" 

They stayed like that for a moment or two longer before Aziraphale gave a sigh. 

"We really _ are _ going to be late, though." he said. 

Crowley looked up and gave a sigh of his own. _ Time to hurry things up upstairs _. He walked over to the staircase that connected the flat with the shop below, grabbed the bannister and shouted, "Get out of the shower and put some clothes on! We're going to be late!" 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "One of us is going to have to go up there and sort things out." 

"Yeah, eventually," Crowley shrugged, "but you know what he's like if you try to help him before he asks. Stubborn." Crowley raised a meaningful eyebrow that Aziraphale steadfastly ignored. 

Above him the faint sound of falling water abruptly ceased. 

Crowley snorted. "He's part fish, I swear. You sure he isn't Dagon's?" 

"Very funny, dear. I was there for the birth" 

"You were there for the conception too, if I remember correctly," Crowley leered. 

Aziraphale, perfectly poised, raised an eyebrow of his own. "If you're having difficulties with your memory, perhaps you need a practical reminder?" 

"Where's my red shirt?" a boy's voice called from upstairs. 

"In your drawers if you put it away. On the floor if you haven't!" Crowley yelled back.

"Really, dear, can we dispense with all the shouting? I'll just go up there and -"

The bell on the front door jingled.

"We're closed," Aziraphale yelled without looking behind him. The sign had been up but the door was unlocked and it wasn't altogether unheard of for a customer to try their luck. 

Crowley was looking over his shoulder to the front of the shop, still as a statue.

There had been no second bell. The customer was still there. Aziraphale huffed and turned around. "I assure you we're clo-"

Mem stood in the entry to the shop, toying with the strap of her shoulder bag. 

She looked much as she had the first time they'd seen her in the Labyrinth, easily mistaken for a student, especially with the colour of her scales covered by some human cosmetic. 

"I could go," she said, "if this isn't a good time."

_ Ten years _ she had been gone, without so much as a note. Aziraphale felt his heart constrict. He had given up hope of seeing her this side of the century, and some part of him believed that he'd never see her again at all. _ Damned _ if he was letting her walk out the door.

"Oh my dear, you will always be welcome here." Aziraphale knew she could sense emotions, and hoped she could feel his sincerity before Crowley's love blinded everything else. 

His demon took a step forward. Crowley's voice shook. "You said you'd be in touch when you're ready. Does this mean…?" 

Mem gave a small nod. "I have a lot of questions and...I'd like to try and get to know you. I'm ready now." 

Aziraphale felt Crowley's fingers grasp his own, and gave them a gentle squeeze. They still had a long way to go, but it was a path they were finally ready to travel down together. All of them.

Behind them came the rhythmic thump of feet on the stairs.

A boy with short, tousled red curls and disheveled clothes appeared, hesitating on the bottom step. He watched Mem with wide eyes.

Mem looked back at Aziraphale and Crowley with a raised eyebrow, and then again at the boy. His small frame did not move from the staircase, but began to fidget with barely contained excitement. Crowley and Aziraphale waited, breath and hands held tight. 

Mem smiled at the boy. “Hello.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for making it this far! It's been a long and bumpy ride :)  
As always, if you hit Kudos and drop us a comment we'll love you forever.  
When we first started this we'd planned something much shorter, just to see if we could get the hang of writing together, but as each chapter progressed the story started to take on a life of it's own. Honestly, we've had a blast and thank you so , so much for reading!


	9. BONUS FEATURES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BONUS FEATURES  
This contains supplementary material which may or may not be of interest to you.

BONUS FEATURES

Poster - because jma is a giant dork.

** _She is nothing of the sort! Look at this poster! LOOK AT IT!_**

Chapter 3 - Edinburgh

PICTURE

Cemetery for soldiers' dogs.

** _I was in Edinburgh back in 2006 and I hope I get to go back someday. The castle was amazing, but to be honest, the parts I loved best were the doggy cemetery and the old jail cell doors that have angry French graffiti on them. Ah, humans. Never, ever change. - Ineffable_Plans_ **

Chapter 4

Extended scene

_ The second half of this scene didn't make it into the narrative as it was too 'light' for the scene. _

The last time Aziraphale and Crowley had shared a bed had almost been a disaster.

Afterwards Aziraphale tried to find something to blame it on. Crowley was the embodiment of temptation itself, but then, he always had been so that was hardly an excuse. Neither was the fact that they had been drinking for several hours, passing the bottle back and forth and drinking straight from the neck. This, too, they had done before.

No, it had been fear.

They were lying on Crowley's bed, drinking from his terrible stemless glassware, which Aziraphale considered only marginally better than the bottle. _ It's double walled, Aziraphale, it won't warm the wine. _And they were only lying there because there wasn't a single stick of comfortable furniture in Crowley's flat suitable for two people. 

The world hadn't ended. The Antichrist had spared them all. Aziraphale was back in his own body. He felt exhausted but elated. Almost euphoric. 

They'd defied Heaven and Hell. There was a puddle of black goo in one of the doorways that couldn't be miracled away. They would be hunted down and Aziraphale was terrified. 

It was this mix of elation and fear that he blamed. It had been him who lunged at his demon and had kissed him, clawed at clothing that was suddenly no longer there. Crowley had not resisted, not at first. He'd wrapped his long legs around Aziraphale and pulled him close. But when Aziraphale had thrust himself inside, just the once, he'd been pushed back with more force than one could expect from Crowley's slender frame. 

"Angel, _ what the heaven are you thinking _? You know we can't.."

Aziraphale had tried to explain, tried to justify himself. "It doesn't matter anymore. ." He had moved tentatively forward, placing is hands on Crowley's face to make him see. "It won't matter. My dear, we aren't going to survive this. You see that, don't you? Neither Heaven nor Hell will forgive what we've done."

Crowley had battered him away. "You think I _ don't _ want to just say 'fuck it all'? I literally lost everything I cared about today. I even lost the bleeding Bentley!" His voice softened. "I lost _ you, _you idiot. And I didn't think you were coming back." Crowley rubbed his face with his hands, and the exhaustion of the day weighed heavily on his shoulders. 

Aziraphale hadn't thought of what the demon had been through. He'd been so caught up in finding a body and saving the world, but the memory of Crowley's face in the pub pushed itself forward. _ I lost my best friend._

"Crowley, I'm sorry," he said. 

"It's just... you're back. And I wasn't sure if you were ever coming back. And if you think I'm just going to give up, that I'm not going to fight to keep you here you have another thing coming."

This...verged on things they never talked about. 

"We can't just run, Crowley. They'll find us eventually." Aziraphale thought of the bandstand, and his heart breaking. 

"No. We can't," Crowley said. He'd tried, but he knew it was pointless, had known it all along really, but he would have done anything to keep Aziraphale safe. "You're the cleverest person I know. We can outsmart them. We've been doing it for centuries, angel. And there's still the prophecy. Anyway you're meant to be the responsible one. And here I am showing remarkable self-restraint-" 

"Self-restraint! I'd hardly call that self-restraint, dear, given that you miracled our clothes off!" 

Crowley's incredulous look would be almost comical if it didn't remind him so much of their conversation on the walls of Eden. "As opposed to the guy who gave no thought at all to to preparation or, heaven forbid, foreplay, and just parted my legs and shoved your dick right up my-" 

"Did I hurt you?" Aziraphale hadn't thought, he'd just acted. And if he'd hurt Crowley... 

Crowley said something inaudible that Aziraphale took as confirmation, especially as the demon wouldn't look at him.

"I am so, so sorry. That was unforgivable of me."

Crowley glared at him. "I said I _ liked it, _ you idiot!" He flung himself backwards onto the bed and pressed a pillow over his own face.

"Actually I take it back." Crowley's voice was muffled by the pillow, but still legible, "I hope they do kill us both."

Labyrinth de horta, Barcelona

DRAFT ENDINGS

_ This is what we wrote when we were still deciding how the story was going to go. What you see here are early drafts where we were still deciding on where to take the story. We like the ending we had, but this is how it could have gone. _

** _THE FLUFF ENDING WON!!!! - Ineffable_Plans_ **

Mem destroys the Nephilim:

_ I’m here. I’m home. I need help. _

The reply was instantaneous. She could feel XXX in her mind now. The others, there but silent, were a fuzzy background like white noise. Turned down but present all the same. Mem ached for them all. 

I don’t know where to go now. I - There was an Angel when I went for the relic. And the Holy Water… My father was there. And a Demon. 

So you have nothing then? The voice asked harshly. You will not be able to free us if you cannot get these things. The voice was silent for a moment, thinking. Did you kill your father?

No. I watched to see if he would be burned, too. The Holy Water hurt. I don’t understand, how can Holy Water hurt me? He was able to gather some and it didn’t affect him at all.

It doesn’t matter. You should have killed him and taken the Holy Water then. You will have to go back. We must have it.

Mem frowned. She could understand XXX’s hurry to get out of here, but they seemed unconcerned with the fact that the Holy Water had burned her. 

How? It burns me. XXX, why does it burn? I’m part Angel and I can’t get close to it. 

Find a way. The voice’s irritation was palpable and Mem could feel the scratching in the back of her brain deepen. It hurt. We have waited too long. 

I’m sorry, I will. Just - I need to know. There was a Demon there with him. The Demon said that... Mem hesitated He said he was my mother. I know it’s not possible, but -

What is it you want to know? The identity of your mother? All of our mothers died when they birthed us into this miserable world. 

The other voices were growing louder now, angry yelling swirled in Mem’s head. She could not tell one apart from the rest, it was a jumbled cacophony of voices with no discernible meaning. She reached up and placed her hands over her ears. It was instinctive, to cover her ears against the noisy onslaught, but it did nothing to help dull the voices in her head. Eventually, XXX yelled and silenced them all, the voices retreating back to white noise.

Please, I don’t understand. There is so much here I don’t understand. You didn’t warn me about. So many feelings out here I never fathomed it.

We have told you exactly what you needed to know in order to free us. You must help us, Mem. You must help your family. XXX’s voice softened, the scrapping softened, and Mem breathed a sigh of relief. 

You have Mem agreed But I can’t touch the Holy Water and I need to know why.

XXX was silent as if considering the request. You are… like us in many ways. But also different. We could sense that in you long ago, when you were first put into the box. That the Holy Water burns you is not… unsurprising. Holy Water does burn demons. We had hoped that your angelic father would have given you the ability to withstand it, as your demonic father gave you the ability to withstand the Hellfire flames. 

Mem stood rooted to the spot. She had hoped, well, she wasn’t quite sure what she had hoped for. That XXX would have another reason for it. That XXX would reassure Mem of her place and purpose. Questions swirled in Mem’s mind freely, and she had trouble focusing on one long enough to ask it. 

You did not need to know. XXX said simply. We need you to focus now. Your mother and father are immaterial. 

Mem fell forward onto her knees and shifted back to sit on her heels. It mattered. Who she was and where she came from mattered to her, though she wouldn’t have been able to articulate why. It simply was. A fact of life in all creatures: the pure desire to know oneself. 

You kept this from me? All of these years? 

It was...for the best.

What else have you kept from me? Mem’s hands balled into fists. The feelings? Did you know about those too? They’re everywhere. It’s too much.

We do not concern ourselves with feelings. You know this. Anger. Pain. This is what we know. All we can know locked in here.

But you were not always in there. They had told Mem several stories of the Earth from millenia ago, during the short period where they were free. Surely they felt something from the others then at least.

No. The voice grew terse, impatient. This was taking too long. Not even then. We do not care for or have need of such things. A pause. It is time to go back, Mem. Get what we require and set us free. 

Mem nodded and stood up again. She looked back towards the door, where the hallway and small room waited. She wondered if the two Demons were still there. She thought about the story the Demon had told her. Mem had doubted it. Still doubted it. But her family had lied. Maybe they had lied for all the right reasons. Maybe it was for the best. Still, Mem hesitated. Something felt… wrong. She turned back to her family. She had to be sure.

The Demons tell stories about you. She said slowly. About what you were like back then. They say - They say that you, all of you, killed. And not just the ones who attacked you.

What of it? It does not matter. They were inconsequential. Bugs under your shoe. Metaphorically speaking.

All of them? Mem gasped. Why? What reason could you have for killing indiscriminately like that?

Because we are a higher order of things. We do not need to lower ourselves to living amongst filth. We have no pesky soul to hold us back. We are free from the constraints that bind the others.

Mem reeled back in horror. They had never spoken of these things. 

You’re monsters. You would kill everyone.

Not everyone. Never everyone. XXX reassured. Some will make lovely servants. But the rest, yes. Though not you, Mem. Never you. You are family, you will be safe with us. Always. 

You can’t kill them just for existing in the same world as you. Mem was seething. Without realizing it her body had adopted an aggressive posture, talons ready. She bit the inside of her cheeks and felt the metallic taste of blood. 

Why? Do you punish the spider for killing the fly? It is the natural order of things. Come now, Mem. You know us. We are your family. Though we did not give life to you ourselves, we cared for you. Raised you. Free us and we will live as a family ought. 

No. Mem narrowed her eyes. No, I can’t. I can’t let you out and watch you kill everything. 

Why? Why do you care? You do not know them. You do not like them. They imprisoned you as well. You have killed. You are no better than we. Release us, Mem. Release us and come home to us. 

Mem stared at her hands. XXX was right. She had killed. She had killed to escape, had killed the humans in the underground city, and for all she knew she had killed the Angel she attacked. Her hands were clean physically, but she knew they were covered in blood. And releasing her family would only add to it. 

I do not know them. Mem agreed. I do not know if I would like them or not. But I know I can’t let you free. I can’t let you out just to destroy it all. Mem’s anger grew, rising in her like bubbles and popping to the surface. She did not hear or notice the newcomers at the double doors. You cannot be allowed.

Mem thought of thousands of years locked away with only this makeshift family. How they had cared for her. Or really she knew now, pretended to care for her. Waiting and biding their time until they would be able to use her to destroy nearly all of creation. All those innocents. Even a Demon wouldn’t. She felt the waves of anger and hatred coming from those concrete prisons. Mem searched for a sliver of anything else. Any other emotion that was not pain and animosity and a desire for vengeance. She did not find one. 

Mem had one final thought before passing out and falling to the ground.

You all need to die. 

#2: 

Crowley stood with his back facing Mem, his trusty tire iron and apparently weapon of choice in his left hand. His right arm stretched protectively back towards her. He stared at Gabriel and Beelzebub with eyes that made him look every bit the fierce demon he tried not to be. Mem was holding her arm now, the gash from Gabriel’s sword was, mercifully, not deep but the blood still flowed freely.

Aziraphale stepped forward towards the Archangel and the Prince of Hell. “Gabriel, there’s no need for this. We were _ wrong _, don’t you see?” Aziraphale begged. “This would have never happened if I didn’t send her away. I thought – “

“We thought.” Crowley said softly from behind him.

Aziraphale nodded without turning. “_ We _ thought that she would be a Nephilim. But she _ isn’t _. She’s as capable of good as any of us!”

“Come now, Aziraphale.” Gabriel frowned. “She’s killed innocents. How does that sit with you? You would defend this abomination?”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale frowned and paused. “Well, that isn’t on her. That’s a stain on my soul, not hers. Being locked up for so long… Anyone would – er – make mistakes. If not for the grace she possesses she might have gone completely mad and – “

“Are you honestly telling me that you think she has _ grace _?” the archangel’s face twisted in disgust. “The Lord specifically said that – “

“That there would be no grace in the _ Nephilim _. But she’s not one of them.”

“It does not matter,” Beelzebub interrupted. “She has killed my demons, without cause.”

“I’d rather think she did have cause!” Crowley argued from his spot, “She was held prisoner for thousands of years. Unjustly, at that.”

Mem remained quiet, not knowing if anything she said would help or only serve to speed up her execution. That her mother and father were now defending her, trying to save her, even _ taking the blame _ for what she had done was…. Well, it was something she couldn’t quite put into words. But they did not seem to be as strong as the Archangel and Prince of Hell. Not to mention the smattering of Angels and Demons who seemed to simply be waiting for the kill order

#3

"You need them!" Crowley yelled in desperation, "For the war."

"What war?" Gabriel asked. 

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley sharply and spun him around to face him. "Don't you do this. Don't you dare do this. They'll be raised as Soldiers. Trained to kill. Please, I'm begging you."

"I'm buying us time! We can convince them to do it another way, but not if we can't get past today." Crowley willed Aziraphale to understand. "I need to be on her side. I have to fight for her, choose her. She needs me and I wasn't there. Please tell me you understand." 

He did. " But not this way. Not putting all of humanity at risk. Not by suggesting a war that they haven't even thought of." 

"What. War?" Gabriel asked again loudly. 

"I'm sorry," Crowley whispered, then he turned to Gabriel and assembled host and spoke loud and clear. " The war with Humanity. All of us against all of them. I'm not saying we should start it, we definitely should not. But it's inevitable. Surely you call can see it!" 

There was a murmur in the room. And sileni from Aziraphale.

(+Actual story)

….

"He comes here sometimes." Mem gazed out over the ocean as the wind whipped up unicorns in the froth. Sand whistled around them, in their hair but out of their eyes. 

Crowley could imagine Aziraphale here, in the little shack nestled in the dunes, pouring tea to ward them against the wind. 

Mem turned to Crowley. "He tells me about the work, trying to make sure the others get a 'rounded education'. I think he misses you."

"I don't think he'll forgive me. I never really meant it. For you all to be soldiers, I mean." 

"But you were right, though. There will be a war. And some of us will be soldiers. But not all of us. He's been working very hard to make sure we have a choice. You both have." 

Crowley thought of his own work with the Demons. (Detail) 

"I don't know if anything I've done since will make up for that day." 

"Why don't you ask him?" 

Mem looked up the beach to where a windswept figure in tartan and beige was watching them. For a moment Crowley couldn't breathe. He was afraid, remembered all the long years between them. They had gone through the worst together before, ripped each other apart and always, always come back. 

He stood and made his way to the dune. Aziraphale met him halfway.


End file.
